Game X-overs 1. Chapter 1

_Every time we touch we get closer to heaven  
And at every sunrise our sins are forgiven_

_You on my skin this must be the end  
The only way you can love me is to hurt me again_

_Your love is a razorblade kiss  
Sweetness is the taste from your lips_

(lyrics Ville Valo, HiM, from '_Razorblade Kiss'_)

_Don't ever leave this way_

_I know it's getting harder, but hey_

_If your world should crumble, yeah_

_And the rain gets in_

_Running through your skin_

_Soaking you outside in_

_The rain ... see it falling_

_And__ I don't know how long it will be_

_Until the storm is over_

_But __I'll wait_

_I will_

(lyrics Pål Waaktaar & Magne Furuholmen, a-ha, from '_Rolling Thunder'_)

**Chapter 1**

"**The ceiling's spinning 'round like I've been drinking, I've got this banging in my head, Boom Boom Boom I need my medicine and the cure ain't aspirin" (lyrics Andrew Frampton, Nadir Khayat, Stephen Kipner, Pixie Lott from '**_**Here We Go Again**_**')**

"You know, I don't even like cleaning my _own_ place," I mumble as we pull up to the white house at the end of a curving driveway.

"It's a job Becks," My sister, Jen, gives me that look that only an older sibling can pull off as she pulls a mop and broom from the back of her minivan. A minivan, I ask you. Is there any vehicle less sexy than a minivan?

"It's bad enough that you've got me driving around in a minivan and now you want me to clean up after some spoiled rotten rich kid who probably leaves used condoms and puke all over the floor," I mutter, reaching past her for the box of cleaning fluids, powders and sprays. "Plus, I really fucking hate the smell of bleach."

"You know, you're doing a lot of god damn bitching for someone who was trying to mooch money off me last week," Jen sighs, hand on hip, her head tilted to one side so that her pig tail splits over her shoulder.

"I would have preferred a hand out," I grumble, which makes her roll her eyes. "What? I'm being fucking honest."

"You're just lucky that Mindi was on vacation so that I could get you some work," Jen replies, shaking her head before turning to head towards the front door of the house, fishing in her pockets for the keys. "I'll take downstairs, you start upstairs."

"Great. Upstairs. Where there's definitely a higher likelihood of cleaning up condoms and puke," I mumble as I follow her in. "And, if I'm _really_ lucky, a prostitute to wake up."

"I don't think this guy needs to pay for it," Jen advises me as the front door swings open and we walk into the marble tiled foyer. I stare up at a crystal chandelier and a then up at a wide wood and wrought iron staircase that looks like something out of Gone with the Wind.

"He can fucking pay _me_ for it," I chuckle to myself as I take a mop and a bucket full of cleaning products with me and start up the stairs. At the top of the stairs I flip a mental coin and head right and towards the end of the hall opening the first door on the right. It's a guest bedroom that doesn't look like it's been slept in, ever. Shaking my head, I plug in my ear buds and crank up the tunes.

* * *

"It's really sore," I mumble into the phone, my eyes still closed.

"Well then just come in a little later, we'll get it massaged out and wrapped and you can keep it elevated for a couple more days and then we'll see," Dr. Burke suggests and I nod, trying to stifle a yawn behind my hand so he won't hear it. I've got a reputation as a hard worker to uphold and I don't want the Doc to get the idea that I haven't even gotten out of bed or tried to put any weight on my leg yet today. Oh, I know my shoulder still hurts, I mean, I can feel it, but I've also, for once, decided that my bed feels really fucking good and warm and I don't want to get out of it.

"Thanks Doc, I'll see you in a while." I hit the end button and drop my phone somewhere on the bed. I'll find it later, when I get up, maybe.

Turning over, I curl around one of the pillows and try to get back to the dream I was having about eating poutine out of the Cup, when I hear a sound from down the hall. At first I put it down to my imagination, but then I hear it again and that gets my attention. I open one eye and look around, trying to remember if I came home alone last night and if I did, did I set the alarm, and if I didn't, was she hot enough to want to get up and have some morning after shower sex with?

I'm just reaching to stick my head in the pillow next to me, to see if it smells like perfume, or if there any tell tale long stray hairs on it, when I hear the sound again and I decide that it's not the sound of someone making coffee or having a shower.

Reaching down to the floor I let my fingers do the walking until I feel the solid length of wood under my hand. Smiling to myself, I pull my trusty old CCM wooden stick out from under my bed and head down the hallway.

I stick my head in the main bathroom, but there's no one there, so it's definitely not someone having a sneaky shower. I should be so lucky. I always seem to pick up the stage five clingers who don't want to leave. As I walk slowly down the hall, listening, I hear the sound again and this time I realize that it's humming. Well, humming mixed with singing. Like someone who doesn't know all the words.

I stick my head in the second bedroom, the one my parents use when they come to town, and I find the source of the off tune singing. There's a girl, a woman, dancing with a mop in the guest room en-suite. I let my stick rest on my shoulder as I stand there and watch her shake her groove thing, which is quite a thing to watch, considering the tight pair of black leggings she's wearing and how she's tied her uniform shirt up around her waist.

I know she's going to be really embarrassed when she realizes that I'm standing here watching her, but she's so damn cute with her dark curly hair bouncing around and her tight little ass swinging in time to the music that I can just barely make out. It's something upbeat, something fun and obviously something motivating by the way she's working the mop.

I'd forgotten that the cleaners come in today. It's an easy thing to forget I guess. I'm usually either at the rink or on the road when they're here. All I know is the place never gets that funky or that messy but I'd never really thought about the people who made sure that my bathtub doesn't have a ring around it. I guess I'd thought of them as women my mother's age, not young hotties with asses that you could bounce a quarter off of.

"Hi." She doesn't hear me, but I've said it, and then I wait, with my hockey stick on my shoulder, watching her in the mirror. It takes another minute or so, but as I know from having women checking me out when I'm on the ice, if someone stares long enough and hard enough, you start to feel it. So finally, when she looks up at me in the mirror, I'm half surprised when she jumps in the air, lets out a squeal and drops the mop.

* * *

"What the fuck!" I drop the mop and it clatters loudly on the floor as I realize that there's another set of eyes besides mine watching me in the mirror. Half scared and half furious, I turn around, yanking out my ear buds to face down the intruder, although admittedly I find it difficult to remain furious when I get an eyeful of the wide muscular shoulders and a sculpted chest with just the right amount of manscaping along with tight fitting black boxer briefs that don't go far enough in hiding what's beneath. "Who the fuck are you?" I ask, the venom going out of my voice as he tilts his head to one side and stares at my rack. I'd be pissed if I hadn't just been checking out his package. I guess fair's fair. It's also a stupid question. I know exactly who he is, but he's got me flustered and at a disadvantage and besides, in my opinion, it doesn't hurt to knock a guy's ego down a peg or two.

"My name's Max and _this, _ma douceur_,_ is my house," he replies with this bemused look on his face and he's still mostly looking at my rack, which has gone on a little long in my opinion so I do that thing where I sort of dip down until my eyes are level with where he's looking and I stare until that blank look disappears from his face. Funny thing is, he doesn't even have the good sense to look remorseful.

"Yeah, I know that, but what are you doing _here_?" I ask, reaching for the mop and putting it back in the bucket so the dirty water stops pooling on the floor. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere…_else_?"

"Yeah, practice but I'm uh…feelin' under the weather," he replies, this funny sort of smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he stands there with a hockey stick draped across his shoulders so that he's giving me the full gun show. I open my mouth to say he looks just fine to me but I manage, but only _just_, to edit my thoughts before it actually slips out. Damned thing is it looks like he guesses because the fucking smirk on his face gets bigger and his gaze slips back down to where I've tied the stupid uniform my sister is making me wear under my boobs.

What? I'm working, it gets hot.

"Does my sister know you're here?" I ask, listening to hear if she's nearby but all I can hear is her way out of tune singing downstairs.

"Sisters huh?" He gets that look on his face, like he's thinking about having a ménage à trois and it's all I can do not to smack that smirk off of his face.

"You wish," I grumble, leaning the stupid mop against the wall and crossing my arms in front of my chest because as soon as his sick little mind gets back from the sick little place it's been his eyes go right back to where they were. "God, you're fucking amazing, you know that? You don't even try to be subtle about it," I shake my head at him but the grin on his face just gets wider if anything. "Shit, you must have balls the size of coconuts."

"Now you're the one wishing ma chère." Okay, admittedly, cocky does it for me, so when he flicks those green eyes of his back up to meet mine and they're full of nasty, dirty, purely carnal thoughts you have to forgive me if my own, far less than pure, thoughts show on my face.

I suck at poker, just so you know.

I should probably tell him to stop where he is when he carefully leans his stick against the wall, suggestively sliding his hands down it before he starts pacing towards me like a panther stalking its prey. I don't even have the sagacity to yell for my sister, who would, if I asked her to, beat him off with a broom. I guess that means I don't want her to.

"Were you about to clean my shower?" he asks, invading my space enough that his chest is practically presses against mine as he leans across me to open the glass door on the shower, which forces me to back up against the vanity, which, I'm gonna go ahead and guess, is part of his sinister plan.

"I was," I mutter, finding myself surrounded by the warm, slightly funky smell of unwashed male, mixed with bourbon and the underlying but heady scent of one of those off the shelf deodorants that's supposed to make anything with a vagina come running from miles away. It makes me want to call a penalty and toss him into the shower for two minutes just so I can clear my head.

"Maybe if I help we can get it done in half the time," he purrs, backing up only enough to grab the ends of the bow I've made out of the ends of the shirt currently tied around my middle. I look down at his hands, or more specifically his fingers, and I can't quite decide if I should laugh or not. Talk about balls….

"Somehow I doubt that," I reach up, with half a mind of batting his hands away, but then he leans in and the way his gaze holds mine, a challenge behind those turquoise lagoon coloured eyes, stops me. He wants to do it, and he wants me to know that, and more than that, he wants to kiss me.

* * *

Usually I'm like the fox in a hen house when it comes to women. I mean, I like them all and I don't want to choose. I want to take them _all_ home. Right this minute, however, I feel a little like a wolf with a cornered lamb, except the expression in her eyes is far from fear. In fact, as soon as I make up my mind to kiss her, it's her that turns into the aggressor as she runs her palms up my chest until her arms are around my neck and just before her mouth finds mine, she gives me this look that seems to say either '_you're going to be sorry'_ or '_get ready you're world is about to be rocked'_.

I'm hoping for the latter but just as her lips come within a hare's breath of mine she throws her head back and laughs and pushes me away.

"Fuck! You really think you're all that don't you? You really thought I was gonna fucking do it. That's hilarious."

I'm left standing there, staring at her as she laughs at me, her arms wrapped around her middle as if she has to hold herself together, as if her laughter is threatening to blow her ribs apart or something. It's pretty fucking humiliating. I like to think there aren't too many women that are immune to my charms. Strangely, I find it…intriguing.

"S'il vous plaît pardonnez-moi, but can you blame me? Finding a beautiful woman in my house, with your…particular charms?" I add with another obvious glance towards her more than ample cleavage. "Can you really blame me for trying?" When out and out lechery doesn't work, I switch it up and use a tactic my good friend and captain used to use when we cruised for girls. I say used to because he's taken now, or at least he's working on it but when he wasn't, the bashful, good boy, complimentary shit worked for him every time.

"My…charms?" I don't think I'm wrong. I'm pretty sure that even though she's trying to give me that look that some women will give you when they know you're pretty full of merde, just the corner of her full, pink lips turns up and her dark brown eyes have a kind of mischievous light in them. Like maybe, just maybe, she doesn't hate me that much.

"Oui. Je suis dévasté par votre beauté." Sure, I know what the accent does to a non French speaking woman's knees, and, if I'm lucky, her panties too.

"Fuck you're slick," she responds with a shake of her head, sending a curly lock of hair into her eyes. Before she can brush it away, I do, but slowly, reaching up and brushing my fingertips across her cheek before tucking the unruly curl behind her ear and now I'm sure that she's playing at being repulsed, but isn't…at all.

"Non mon chéri, just honest," I reply, giving her the appreciative once over that she deserves. She could be on the cover of FHM…or, Playboy.

"Jeeezuss," she shakes her head but doesn't pull away as I reach up again to brush the knuckle of my index finger along the sharp line of her jaw. "Does this work with all the girls?"

"What is that, mon petit renard, the compliment or this?" I shouldn't and I'm almost a hundred per cent sure I'm going to get slapped, but I find that the more I look at the curvaceous shape of her lips, especially the full, soft pink pout of her bottom lip, that I can't resist just taking a quick taste.

* * *

Damn. Damn. _Damn_.

I hate slick. I detest smooth. I fucking loathe mac-daddy playas, and if I've ever seen one, Max Talbot is one. On the other hand, he tastes vaguely of whiskey and mouthwash and that, combined with the heat coming off of his skin, the way the whiskers on his cheeks brush mine like sandpaper and even with all of the warning bells, lights and sirens going off in my head like some kind of air raid warning, my temperature goes up to about a thousand and all I can think is '_please sir, I'd like some more_?'

Fortunately I'm not in the habit of letting my body lead me around like some kind of horny housewife from Wisteria Lane and the shrieking alarm in my head finally wins out enough for me to place my hands flat against his chest and push. Nothing happens. He doesn't even tip back half an inch and I'm left with my hands planted against something that feels like a locked door, solid and hard. Oh yeah and warm, very warm.

"Are you kidding me?" It's not quite 'fuck you' or 'stop' but it's all I can manage when he looks back at me with his sleepy bedroom eyes. "_Are_ you kidding me?" And now I'm sounding like some neurotic surgeon wannabe from Mercy West and I'm not even really making sense and it doesn't help one fucking bit when he reaches up and runs his thumb along my bottom lip, like he has to wipe away drool and the worst of it is, I'm not sure whether I _am_ actually drooling or not.

"As I said, how can I resist?" He grins at me like he's won a spelling bee or something and then tilts his head to one side like he's waiting for me to do something and he just looks at me with this expectant half smile that I actually have to fight not to return.

"Look, maybe all this charming shit works on other girls but where I come from, that kind of shit will get you arrested." I feel like patting myself on the back for finally coming back with a complete sentence. Unfortunately, it doesn't wipe that cocky, and yes, sexy grin off of his face.

"And where I come from, if a man doesn't tell a woman just how much he appreciates her beauty, it would be like committing a mortal sin." Damn. Damn. Damn. It's so not fair how sexy it sounds when he says that, or they way my entire body goes into a shiver when he touches my face again, or the way I want to lean into his hand and starting purring like a stray cat finally picked up off of the street, like I'm grateful for his attention which I shouldn't be but…damn. Damn. Damn.

"You are so full of lines…really, you should write a fucking book," I tell him, gritting my teeth and hating that this guy, this cock sure multimillionaire with his nice house and his great job and his fucking cereal box is getting my panties wet by just petting my cheek like I'm some kind of fucking Golden Retriever. I also hate that if I had a tail I'd probably be wagging my ass off right now.

"Ouch," he grins, finally taking a step back and holding his hands out to the side, as if to say he's unarmed. Yeah right, like that could be possible with that bulge in his Joe Boxers. "You wound me," he adds, with a slight bow, sweeping aside and allowing me room to escape, which I should take, and I try telling my feet to move. Only they won't. Fucking traitors.

I watch as he raises a single eyebrow while he stands there still in his courtly bow, waiting for me to sweep past him in all my angry glory, but I don't. I don't move because I can't. I can't stop looking at his guns, what with the way his arms are flexed and I can't stop looking at his ultra defined pectoral muscles with the cute little rosebud coloured nipples. And worst of all, I can't stop myself from staring at those tight black boxer briefs and the way they hug his muscular thighs and…and other things. Other things that are just a _little_ happier than they were a minute ago.

Damn. Damn. _Damn_.

"There you are!"

Huh. I've never been so happy to hear my sister's grating voice in my entire life. It's almost all I can do not to run and jump into her arms like a happy puppy greeting its master. It's only the way she stands in the doorway, looking at Max and then looking at me with that disapproving older sibling look on her face that reminds me I should be just as unhappy with her as I am with…well, with myself.

"I'm sorry Mr. Talbot. I hope we didn't disturb you. We weren't aware you were home. There must have been some kind of mix up with the schedule." I watch as my sister goes digging into her mommy jeans looking for something and take the opportunity her distracting appearance has provided to remind myself to breathe.

"No, ceci est absolument de ma faute. Ladies, I apologize. Please, carry on. I'll just…have a shower," he adds, with a glance towards me that holds an offer that makes everything below the belt clinch in an uncomfortable way. "And then I will be out of your hair, momentanément."

I watch him walk away and chew on my bottom lip as I get a full view of how those damn boxer briefs hug his sensational ass. Half of me…no, if I'm honest, more than half of me wants to follow him down the hall to his room, his shower and his bed. The part of me that would never, ever want my sister to hear me have sex, however, manages to get dominion over my internal hussy and I remain where I am feeling a little like I've just gone eight rounds with Laila Ali.

"You weren't bothering him were you? I mean you didn't ask him for an autograph or something did you Becks because these celebrities have a right to their privacy you know. I mean, that's one of the reasons I get hired for this kind of thing is that I understand that these are just regular working stiffs like the rest of us but…."

"Cut the crap sis, okay?" I snarl, picking up my mop and dropping it back to the floor. "First of all…he's a fucking jock, not a celeb and second of all…I'm not a fucking pucky bunny okay?" Jen gives me that look like she knows I've done something, she just isn't sure what, but then she finally shrugs and turns to head out of the room.

"Oh, I almost forgot what I came up here for," she says just as I go back to mopping the floor. "I just wanted to say I have another house tomorrow and Mindi's still feeling off so if you want some more hours…?" I think about saying no, think about telling her where she can stick her bleach and ammonia, but I can't really afford to.

"Yeah, whatever. No probs," I reply with a sigh, and go back to mopping the floor.

* * *

"You've lost your touch old man," I chastise myself as I lean into the scalding hot spray of the shower. I even have to consider that maybe my best moves just didn't work in the harsh light of day, as I close my eyes and let the water rush over me.

Or maybe, just maybe she was one of those girls whose panties only automatically slid to the floor for the mighty Sidney. There seemed to be a lot of those and it was something I was used to, women bypassing me like I don't even exist to get to Captain Cutie-Pie. At least I wasn't still waiting around looking to scoop up his sloppy seconds. That, I've outgrown.

What I obviously haven't gotten used to is rejection. Probably because it hasn't happened since I was the hero of game seven. I've pretty much been able to get any piece of ass I've wanted since then. There's even been a couple of times that a pretty little thing has gone right past Sid to get to me.

But I'm not really just looking for just a piece of ass anymore. I'm kind of over the whole one night stand thing. From watching Sid and Tabby play house, I think I'm a little jealous of the whole domestic scene and I'm starting to think maybe it's time to give up the whole alley cat image.

Of course I would have taken advantage of ce joli petit chaton if she'd let me. I mean, I may thinking about settling down, but I'm not dead. She was cute.

No, not just cute. She was that perfect mix of Madonna and whore that a guy wants, or at least that's what I think I want. And she was lippy…and I might not like it but I probably need that kind of challenge. Or at least that's what Vero and Tabby and even Jordy's new squeeze, Trina, keeps telling me.

I guess if it works for them, I muse as I reach for a towel, they could be right.

Maybe.

Running the towel through my hair I consider how my shoulder is feeling. It will be good to get some rest this summer, and some physio. This hasn't been a good season. I haven't been able to get back to where I was and….

The grin on my face almost hurts as I stand there, dripping on the tile floor, staring at a message written in the steam on the bathroom mirror; _Leave the lines at home, but call me_ and a number.

Maybe I'm not losing my touch after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"You're asking the wrong question. To the wrong person and it's hurting you to listen. I wanna be truthful but you gotta be certain this is what you mean." (Lyrics to It's Not the Thing Henry, by Glenister, Moyet and Alison, Alison Moyet)

"What have you done?" I look up from admiring my god son's grip on my finger and smile across the room at his mother. "Don't even try to give me that innocent look Max. Every time I've seen that look on your face, the next thing I know, I'm under water or Sid's got itching powder in his jock," Tabby adds with a scornful look that I think probably works on Sid and will probably work on Toby and Cody, at least until they're about thirteen.

"I met someone." My admission is met with a couple of sniggers and one over dramatic gasp. I turn towards the source of that derisive sound to look at Tabby's friend Mel who is currently cradling my other god son in her arms. "What?"

"I don't know, you just said that like it was unusual or something," she says, without even looking up from the tiny squirming bundle in her arms. I can't tell if I'm holding Toby or Cody. Sid says he and Tabby can, so there must be something I'm missing, but I haven't figured it out yet.

"Yeah Max, I'm pretty sure there are women waiting outside your door every night," Tabby's other friend Trina adds from where she'd keeping a healthy distance from the babies. Like it might be catching, and when my gaze slides back to Mel and the way Johnny is watching her with that bundle in her arms, I guess she might have a point. Johnny left his wife for Tabby's friend and she's already got a bun in the oven. Not too many people know that, pretty much just the people in this room. It's a little too early for them to be shouting it from the rooftops and besides, it would be hell on earth if Brent's ex found out so we're all keeping that particular tidbit of info on the down low.

"I don't, as it happens and, well you guys are all tied down, why shouldn't that happen to me?" I ask looking around the room at Sid with his arms around Tabby's waist, his chin on her shoulder, both of them looking all blissfully loved up. Then there's Johnny and Mel and their whole new little can't get enough of each other, apparently explosively sexual relationship, which kind of gives me the heebie-jeebies to be honest. And then I look up to where the tallest people in the room, Trina and Jordy are standing just a little apart, trying their best not to actually touch one another in public when everyone knows that the minute they're alone, someone's getting tied up and all kinds of kinky fun ensues.

"Hey, don't look at _me_ when you say that," Trina coughs, looking green around the gills at the thought, not of being tied up or down, but probably at the thought of being in a monogamous relationship. Jordy still has Heather and apparently, when Trina goes home to Vancouver, she's been spending some quality time with that big goofy d-man of theirs, Shane O'Brien. I guess neither of them is really into actually taking that next step although when I asked Jordy if I get take a run at the leggy brunette, he threatened to do some serious bodily harm to me. Not that I'm really into sharing with my teammates anyway.

"I'm just saying I met this woman and…je ne sais pas, there's something about her," I try to explain, shrugging my shoulders and turning my attention back to my godson whose fingers are still curled around my thumb in a death grip. He has his daddy's meaty fingers for sure.

"I never thought I'd see the day." I look back up to see Sidney sharing one of those looks with his woman, like he thinks their whole lovey-dovey thing is the best thing in the world, "Max, actually considering a serious relationship."

"Like I said, you guys make me feel like I might be missing out on something," I shrug again watching that silent communication that Tabs and Sid seemed to share that now Brent and Mel seemed to have and even Jordy's reaching for Trina's hand with a look that says '_let's get out of here and go do something more fun_' but he doesn't have to say it because they know each other well enough to have that esp or whatever.

"Don't do it Max," Brent laughs, drawing my attention back to him and his curvy girlfriend who is cuddled up so tightly against him that you can't really see where she stops and he begins. "You and Tanger are like the last of the single dudes on the team. You'd be breaking a lot of puck bunny hearts."

"Hey, I resent that man!" Jordy chimes in but we all ignore him. Whether it's Trina or Heather, he's taken and we all know it.

"And Tanger's too fucking shy to be the only single guy on the team. The cougar squad would eat him alive," Sid adds, creating a vision that makes us all laugh, Tanger, surrounded by older, sexually aggressive women that would have our long haired friend begging for help. Not that anyone of us would because we all know that he'd actually enjoy it, once he got past being terrified.

"He won't do it. He's just feeling left out, but he won't actually do it," Tabby states like there's no argument possible and the minute I open my mouth she just shakes her head and crosses the room to take her son out of my arms. "The minute you even think a girl is getting her hooks into you, she won't see you for dust Max and you know it."

"That's the old me," I tell her with a smile, placing my tiny charge carefully into her arms. "This is the new me. You'll see."

* * *

"_I can pick you up_," he tells me, sounding both earnest and hopeful as I hold yet another outfit up in front of me while I make a disgusted face at my reflection.

"No, that's fine. Just tell me where to meet you and I'll be there," I tell him, trying to sound firm, like this isn't up for discussion, which it isn't.

"_C'mon, you know where I live. I have a nice car, I promise the neighbors won't think less of you if I pick you up in it,_" he promises and it's all I can do not to laugh. I want to tell him if he so much as leaves his car parked outside my 'place' he'll be lucky if he makes it back to his car with it just up on blocks and not torched.

"No, really, I'm…," I look around the disaster that is my room and sigh. "I'm running behind and I probably won't even make it home to change." It's a lie and it makes me wince to say it out loud, but it's better than his continuing to push to pick me up. "So just tell me where you want to meet and I'll be there."

"_It kind of ruins the surprise_," he sighs, managing to actually sound disappointed. I roll my eyes and pull yet another dress out of my closet and hold it in front of me before discarding that one too and adding it the growing pile on my bed.

"Well I'm not really into surprises anyway," I reply as I grab my latest purchase out of the bag and hold it up in front of me. It took most of the money my sister had paid me for the past few days but it's worth every penny. It's a black tank style dress that hugs everything, with a rhinestone studded a fleur-de-lis on the right breast and a pair of silver wings on the back that hugs my rib cage all the way down to where the tips of the wings curve around my ass. Even the girl in the store where I bought it had to admit I looked hot in it.

"_I was thinking about taking you to one of my favorite restaurants_," he says, but doesn't elaborate, which is kind of annoying.

"Great. I could eat. So where do I meet you?" He rattles off a street address that I end up jotting down in eyeliner on the inside of my arm, before hanging up and running for the bathroom.

"Who was on the phone?" The sound of my mother's voice, slurred and half asleep, makes me freeze. Damn. It's awake.

"Jen," I lie, which is easier than answering the twenty questions that I know will follow telling the actual truth and then whole blame game that would follow that; the 'don't leave me's' and the 'you've never been a good a daughter' and the 'you're such a slut, why can't you be a nice girl like you're sister?'

Fuck the economy for making me move back to this shithole with my drunk fucking mother.

"That's so nice of your sister to give you a job," she calls to me in this sing song voice that makes my skin crawl but I smile and tell her yes, because it's easier to let her go on and on about how wonderful her first born is rather than how disappointing I am. "Did you get my cigarettes?" she asks, just as I'm about to step into the shower.

"Beside your bed mom," I call, and snap the shower curtain shut and crank on the water and ignore her ramblings because at least now I have something to look forward to.

* * *

For just a minute I think about continuing down the block and standing her up when I see her standing at the corner of the block. It's not she's not fucking hot. It's just she's not exactly the natural beauty I remembered. Rather than the cute, peppy, pony tailed fresh faced girl that caught my attention cleaning my bathroom, what I see waiting for me looks a lot like a date I'd have to pay for.

With knee high black stiletto boots, a curve hugging mini dress and one of those black leather jackets with all the zippers and buckles, I have to admit that if I'd seen her in a club I'd be fighting TK and Jordan for her and I'd assume that I'd be able to take her home, no questions asked. I'd also never ask for her name and I'd definitely be sneaking out before breakfast.

Is it fair to think less of her because she reminds me of half the puck bunnies that show up at the games hoping we'll notice them? Probably, but I can't help it. Maybe I'm just so used to the women that are already ensconced with the team and their designer labels and hundred dollar bang trims. Maybe I forget what Vero was like when we all just arrived, new to the big time. Maybe I forget what it was like to not be able to afford all the nice things that I have. Or maybe I'm just used to all those fashionable girls in Montreal with their flair for the flamboyant.

So, I tell myself not to be that guy that leaves a girl stranded and pull up outside of the restaurant, tucking my keys into my pocket as I remind myself that there was something about this girl that didn't remind me of any of those obvious clingers and puck fucks.

When she turns, as if she has some sixth sense that tells her I'm there, the sultry grin she gives me puts me back on my heels. Her clothes might make her look cheap but the slow once over she gives me has my stomach doing the kind of flip flop that is normally reserved for pre game jitters.

"Bonsoir mon petit chaton." I'm half surprised when she lets me greet her the European way, a brush of the lips first to one cheek and then the other. She smells like a summer morning, all honeysuckle and rose petals and I have the strongest urge to bury my nose in her hair and lick the long curve her neck to see if she tastes as good as she smells.

"I thought I told you to leave the lines at home," she says with a smirk that tells me she doesn't really mind.

"It's not a line," I tell her, captured by her dark eyes, by the almost invisible freckles across the bridge of her nose. "It's just a little pet name. You don't mind do you?" I ask as I watch her attention turn to my sleek, black expensive European car. She tilts her head to one side so that her long, straight dark brown, almost black hair falls over her shoulder.

"I guess I can live with being called a cat," she smiles and shrugs and then turns to look up at the sign above the front door of the restaurant. "Not so sure about the raw fish though."

"You don't like sushi?" Sometimes I forget that not everyone likes what me and all the rest of the guys on the team like. Hockey players eat sushi, lots of it.

"Not as much as I like fried chicken," she answers with a smirk on her face that doesn't go far enough to hide the insecurity in her eyes. That has to be it, I decide. That's what I'm drawn to. She's got the swagger, but it only covers up a girl that isn't as confident as she's trying to portray. I know that feeling, more than I'd admit to nearly anyone. There aren't many people who know that I'm not really Mad Max, at least, not all of the time.

"Do you think you can trust me?" I ask, offering my hand, which she looks down at as if she's expecting there to be one of those trick buzzer things in it.

"Do you think I should?" she asks, and despite the arched eyebrow and the playful smile, the question in her gaze is real.

"Probably not," I grin, "but give it a try."

* * *

I keep stealing glances at him as he picks things off of the menu that he promises are going to be tasty. It's hard not to, especially when his biceps flex when he turns the menu towards me to show me a picture of what he's ordering and the tattooed shield dances before my eyes.

And then there's the way the plain black t-shirt he's wearing tugs across his chest, like it can barely manage not to rip at the seams, as if it's two sizes too small, and yet perfect for that. The temptation to try the strength of those seams keeps me sitting on my hands until the sake comes and I'm forced, once again, to watch his poor shirt strain as it tries to remain in one piece.

It makes me wonder what it would look like balled up on my bedroom floor, but only briefly, because that's never going to happen. Not as long as I live in the Locust Mobile Home Park and my mother is surgically attached to a bottle of Johnny Walker Red. So I down a couple thimblefuls of the warm, sharp liquid and try not to think about the way his chest looks under his shirt.

"So tell me about yourself," he begins, as he leans back in the high backed chair of the darkened restaurant, a faint smile playing across his full lips as he watches me play with the little clay tumbler, rolling it one way and then the other, anything to stop myself from nervously shredding every napkin on the table.

This was the part I'd been dreading. I'd been hoping he was one of those guys who could and would talk about himself endlessly and that I would be able to just smile and nod and not have to say anything more than 'oh really?' What did I have to talk about; life in the trailer park or my mother's penchant for downing an entire bottle of whiskey in one night? Or that my last boyfriend ended up in jail after a bar fight? Not really topics of conversation for a first date…or any date if I can help it.

"You mean that I'm a Taurus? Like that?" I ask, answering his dubious gaze with what I hope is a vaguely innocent expression.

"For a start," Max grins encouragingly, as if his devilishly charming smile is going to loosen my tongue. Luckily the food begins to come on its' long thin plates and I force him to explain each roll in detail before I put any of them in mouth, and he forgets that I haven't told him a thing.

* * *

"Thanks for the burger." She holds up the bag from Fatburger and we both laugh. I guess raw fish isn't to everyone's taste.

"Next time we'll do Italian or something," I promise as we walk back towards my car, weaving our way through the crowded sidewalk, filled with other couples who are laughing and talking animatedly. In comparison, we're strolling along like an elderly couple, her arm linked in mine, taking our time like neither of us wants to get to the car too soon.

"So there's going to be a next time?" Laughing, I think about how I'd almost driven by her earlier, almost stood her up, and how I would have missed all her funny facial expressions, especially when she tried wasabi for the first time. Now, I know, I wouldn't have missed it for the world and I am already thinking about the next time I can see her, and I realize I'm already looking forward to it.

"Well I guess if I wasn't too boring, I thought you _might_ let me take you out again." She'd listened, bright eyed and attentive to all my war stories, laughing at all the right places, but not too loud, and frowning when she should. That kind of thing shouldn't make a difference to me, but it does, especially after so many wannabe WAGs that laugh at everything, like I'm some kind of fucking comedian twenty four seven, those girls whose ears you can blow in and change the air pressure in their heads that are good for one thing and one thing only.

"No, not _too_ boring," she agrees and lets me slide my hand down around hers until we're walking around like all the other young couples around us out on their dates, hand in hand and I realize that I can't remember the last time I did this.

"Maybe you'll let me make you dinner," I offer, feeling happy and confident. "I make a mean tourtière, maybe with some pudding au chomeur for afters," I suggest, only to watch her pull another one of those sour faces, just like she had at the miso soup.

"Don't get ahead of yourself Frenchie," she tells me quietly as we come to a stop in front of my car. Trying to hide my disappointment, and not wanting to ruin the good vibe that has developed between us, I bend and reach for the car door but as I open it, she whistles for a cab instead.

"Oh c'mon, at least let me drive you home. It's late," I offer but she only shakes her head as she waves at the car gliding towards the curb.

"No," she replies, turning me down flat without leaving the topic open for discussion. "I had fun," she adds, grabbing a handful of my shirt and pulling me towards her, towards her lips. I can taste the sake on her breath and for a moment I forget to feel disappointed that she's not even leaving me a glimmer of hope of waking up next to her. "Even with the raw fish," she adds before she plants her lips over mine in a hot, eager kiss. Her lips part and her tongue winds itself around mine like a serpent in a slow and sensual dance, like a stripper on a pole. "Goodnight Max," she purrs in my ear and then she's gone, dancing past me into the street where she slips into the back of the cab, leaving me standing on the street corner where I'd found her, grinning like a country bumpkin…like Jordan.


	3. Chapter 3

_Just a warning on this chapter, there's some pretty strong and generally objectionable language and I wouldn't normally warn you about something like that, but this is 'locker room talk' and I don't mean it, believe it, and would normally fight anyone who spoke like this, but in this case it's just boys being boys and is important to the story so here goes_

**Chapter 3**

"Bonjour ceci est bouilloire pot," I begin, glancing at the multi coloured cardigan that he seems to favor, despite the fact that it looks like something his mother would have forced him to wear in grade school and is definitely not something I'd be caught dead wearing.

"Je sais, mais…well, give me some points for at least going through with it," Max shrugs, his gaze suddenly taking on that far off quality as he stares into space with this goofy…well, goofier than usual grin on his face.

"And you're glad you did by the look of it," Gronk chuckles, snapping a soaking wet towel at Max's face, missing by a cunt hair. Max doesn't flinch. He never does. "So you got some of the old in out last night?"

"Must you be so crude Jordan?" I mutter, earning myself one of the tall blonde forward's patented sarcastic eye rolls.

"Must _you_ be so _gay_?" Jordan snorts, and half the guys in the room laugh, like they always do. I don't rise to it. I never do anymore. I know they don't really mean it, and I know that it only gets worse, the longer my hair gets towards the end of the season. I don't care if they all think it's some kind of fashion statement, it's really more of a superstition thing, along with the beard, which itches like crazy. "So _did _you?" he asks, giving Max's foot a kick.

"Would _I_ kiss and tell?" Max asks, with that `_as if I'd tell you'_ look on his face which is beyond bullshit because he's usually the first one to blab.

"Which means no, loooser," TK laughs and then it starts, who got what and how many times. It's like this all the time. It reminds me a bit of high school that way.

"There's something about her. I can't put my finger on it," Max sighs and that makes me stop and look at him, really look at him, because Maxime Talbot is not the kind of guy that sighs over a girl.

"Well, une fille qui n'est pas le donner à la première date est une denrée rare et précieuse," I tell him which earns me another raised eyebrow and a shake of his head.

"Tabernak, sometimes you really _are_ a fag," Max groans and finally gets up to his feet. "Maybe you should take her shopping for some like less skanky clothes," he continues, giving me a bright smile, like a light bulb has just gone on over his head. "You know, because you're a fag and they have all that Queer Eye style stuff," he adds, as if more explanation is required. Frankly I'm getting a little sick of the `jests', but I'm still not going to rise to it.

"À tout moment," I grin back at him, because not reacting is good but actually playing along really confuses him and that way I get to have my fun too.

"Are you two cock bandits planning a shopping trip?" Crosby smirks as he walks by and then laughs when I give him a dirty look. "Oh c'mon Tanger, you don't want to be the only single guy left on the team, do you?"

"Pourquoi pas? Then I'd get all the girls," I grin back at him.

"Girls? Tanger sucks cock, he doesn't like girls. Ain't that right Tanger?" Cookie laughs as he goes by, banging my shins with his stick.

This shit really _is _getting old.

* * *

"Becca!"

I pull the pillow over my head and squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I just go back to sleep she'll go away.

"Becky!"

Reaching for my one other pillow, I toss that on top too and curse quietly.

"Rebecca, get in here you stupid, fucking, whore!"

Oh no she didn't.

For a minute I just lie there, trying to pretend I can't hear her. Then I wonder if I run to the kitchen, grab a cleaver and kill her how much of a mess I'll have to clean up and if my sister has the right kinds of chemicals to do the job, but then I think that I'm too pretty and too straight to go to jail.

"What the fuck do you want?" I holler back, ripping the pillows off of my head, dropping them on the floor in disgust.

"I'm out of cigarettes!" she screams back and the tone of her voice is shrill enough that it makes me actually check my ears to see if they're bleeding. Mumbling something under my breath about her being a lazy, stupid cunt, I slide out of my bed and reach for my jeans on the floor and my phone falls out and sits there, blinking up at me.

Scooping it up off of the floor, I scroll through the usual text messages from my friends who abandoned me at the bar last night as they disappeared into the night with the usual drunk, slobbery idiots with their cheesy pick up lines, to find two messages from Max. The first is the usual and expected `_had a good time, looking 4ward 2 c-ing u again'_, the second though is a little more unusual.

There's a picture of him, from the back, wearing only the water from the shower he is standing under, one hand on the tiled wall in front of him, fingers spread. The other hand can't be seen, which I suppose is the point, considering the message beneath which reads `_Max missing you already, T'_.

"Who the fuck is T?" I ask myself as I peer at the picture, which, although too small to see any kind of detail, still allows me to appreciate his very pale but highly muscular ass.

"Rebecca!" Rolling my eyes I pull my jeans on, grab a t-shirt off the pile of clean ones on my dresser and shove my phone in my back pocket, mulling over a perfect reply to that photo while I head out the door.

* * *

"You better run, tu petite morceau de merde," I call after TK who's bugging it for his car after I found the email that had resulted in the text message I'd just received from Becky; `_I'm up 4 a little fun in the sun, looks like u need it'_.

"I wish he moved that fast on the ice every night." I turn to find Crosby's crept up on me, wearing the same maniacal grin he's been wearing for a while now, like creating life has actually turned him into a super hero.

"Le pervers peu took a picture of me in the shower on my own phone," I explain, handing him my phone and listening to him giggle like a schoolgirl at my expense.

"At least he got your best side," Sid snorts as he hands my phone to Jordan who nearly chokes on his power bar as he howls with laughter.

"What are you so upset about anyway? It's not like we all know that you're counting the hours until you're getting this chick naked anyway," Jordan adds, like it's a foregone conclusion that the only thing I can't want is a sexual relationship. Not that I don't want to see her naked, and soon, but it's just not the _only_ thing I want to do with her.

"I'm going to try not to," I admit, shrugging my shoulders and then rolling my eyes when they both stare at me, eyes wide and obviously disbelieving. "What? Do you really think I'm not capable of having a normal, adult relationship without having sex right away?"

"Yes," they both answer, immediately and without a moment's thought, in unison.

"Not to mention you're planning on leaving for Haiti soon," Tanger adds as he joins our little band of merry men. "After the wedding of course Cap," he adds with a grin.

"_If_ she says yes," Sid sighs and we all laugh. The poor guy; Tabby's really made him work for it, but we all know they're happy as two bugs in a rug together, which is all I want.

"She will," Jordan says firmly, like maybe he's got inside information, and though we all assume that when he's with Trina there's probably not a lot of time for pillow talk, I guess there has to be _some_.

"Maybe she'll be my date to the wedding," I add, keeping things positive but when I look around me at my friends, they're all still staring back at me, unconvinced.

"Who are you and what you done with Max?" Jordy shakes his head and then, after firmly squeezing my shoulder he heads to his truck. I consider sticking my tongue out at him but decide that doesn't really go with the new me I'm striving for.

"So you're going to say no to me if I say let's go to DejaVu tonight?" Kris asks, scrutinizing my face, as if he too doesn't quite believe what he sees.

"Maybe Becky will want to go," I offer, snatching my phone from his hand. He rolls his eyes, shakes his head and makes a derisive noise deep in his throat before walking away from me. "What's with him?" I ask as I turn back to Sid who shrugs and grins at me.

"You know Tanger's no good at picking up women on his own. He's too fucking shy to actually hit on girls by himself. Unless he's hammered," Sid adds with a chuckle. "But he's running out of wingmen, and like Tabby says, that boy is not meant to be on his own."

* * *

"You sure you don't mind?" Max asks as he helps me off with my jacket before handing it to the coat check girl, along with his own. "It will just be a few of the guys, maybe a couple of the Steelers," he adds, but not like he's bragging, just like it's a matter of fact.

"I think _I_ should be asking _you_ that," I reply, waiting as he takes the ticket she gives him and I can't help but notice the way her fingers brush against his and her gaze lingers a little too long on his tattoo where it peeks out from beneath his sleeve.

"We don't have to stay if you don't want to," he adds, reaching for my hand and lacing his thick fingers into mine. "We can leave any time you want. All you have to do is say, d'accord?" I can't help but nod and smile in response to the earnest expression on his face. He's not just saying it, he actually means it and I can't even think of the last time any guy I'd dated made an offer with that much class behind it.

We fall into step behind a bouncer who dwarfs both of us and blocks out the lights as the sea of patrons parts for him in front of us as he leads us across the polished wood floors and up the stairs to the VIP section were a few guys have already made themselves comfortable and the champagne is already flowing. Max leads me over to one of the wrap around couches where a tall blonde is sitting with a leggy Asian on his lap who seems to be threatening him with a bottle of Patron.

"Becks, this is Jordan and his girlfriend Trina."

"Hey…_less_ of the girlfriend," the woman cries, tipping the bottle into the tall blonde's mouth who gulps the golden liquid down like a baby calf, his long throat working rhythmically as he easily swallows half of the bottle. "I'm his dirty hot mistress and we both like it like that," she adds with a growl before nipping at Jordan's bottom lip while he gives her ass a smack that reverberates loudly in the room, making everyone turn and stare. Trina doesn't so much as wince.

"I'd say ignore them," Max leans in to whisper in my ear, "but he's one of my best friends and they're pretty much always like this. Je suis désolé."

"Why are you sorry?" I ask, letting go of his hand long enough to give his ass a firm squeeze. "Or are you just sorry you're missing out?"

"Don't get him started, he'll start sucking his thumb and asking you to change his diaper." I turn to look into the dark, dark brown eyes half hidden behind long, brown bangs that make him look like some kind of Prince out of a Disney movie.

"Hmmm…well…I do have the boots," I point out, glancing down at my black patent, knee high stiletto boots which could definitely be dominatrix gear.

"And if anyone's sucking anyone's thumb around here, it's me," Jordan growls, before grabbing Trina's hand and promptly sticking her thumb in his mouth and making loud, over exaggerated lip smacking noises.

"Okay, you're right, your friends _are_ weird," I laugh, giving Max's ass a smack and realizing that not only is there no give to his ass but that my hand actually hurts.

"Do that to Sid and your hand won't hurt as much," the dark haired prince promises, but a quick look around tells me that the most famous of the Penguins is nowhere to be found.

"Do that to Sid and Tabby will rip your arm off and beat you to death with it," Trina warns me in a no nonsense voice that tells me that what she's saying is absolutely true.

"Do that to Sid and _I _might rip your arm off," Max says in an entirely different tone as he reaches for my hand and lifts it to his mouth, brushes his lips over my knuckles and looks up at me with his leaf, green eyes. "I don't really want you touching any other guys' derrieres."

"No?" I ask, feeling my cheeks grow warm as Max's gaze holds mine long enough to send a shiver straight down to the butterflies in my stomach and sets them fluttering.

"Non," he replies, his smoldering gaze turning into an inquisitive smile.

* * *

"Wow."

"Je sais ce que tu entends," Dupes grumbles into his beer. "It's sickening."

"I've never seen him like this," I add, trying not to look at Max with that girl's tongue down his throat.

"_That's_ bullshit," GoGo smirks, downing the remainder of his rum and coke. "I can't even count how many times I've seen him with his tongue down some girl's throat. It's like a regular thing."

"But he looks _happy_," I point out, "not just lecherous like he usually does."

"Does he? Or is he just drunk?" GoGo sighs, motioning for the waitress to bring us another round. "I think you're just jealous that your boyfriend is making out with someone other than you for a change," he adds, his face a barely contained mask of pure resentment. Dupers and I both look over at him and then at each other and I know we both are wondering whether to say it. Shrugging, I do.

"You're still pissed about Mel and Johnny," I tell him and for once he doesn't deny it. Instead he shrugs and glances over at the two pairs of lovers making out at the other end of the couch.

"Is it wrong to want someone in my life Tanger? I mean, is that so wrong?" GoGo asks and then we both sigh.

"Non," I mumble, turning my attention back to the bottom of my drink. "Je pense que nous devons tous quelqu'un, but then you had someone and you messed it up," I add, not being helpful.

"Thanks for reminding me," he grumbles, reaching for my drink but then his hand pauses in mid air and he makes a face. "Jeeezus Tanger, even your drink is gay."

"Merci," I snap, grabbing my martini and dragging myself to my feet. Right now, I neither want to watch Max making out with his new girlfriend nor do I want to hear Dupers and Goligoski make fun of my choice of beverages, which will naturally lead to making fun of my hair and then my clothes and then….

"Hey, mon ami, où allez-vous?" Max, his mouth smeared with bright red lipstick, grins up at me. "Get me another drink?"

"L'obtenir un pour vos soi," I snap, allowing myself one quick look at those fishnet stockings disappearing into those shiny black boots and shake my head. Why is it they all gravitate to Max?

"Ah c'mon mon ami, don't be such a spoil sport," Max calls after me. "You can see I'm busy here," he adds, grinding salt into the wound.

"J'espère que tu attraper quelque chose qui va tu tuer," I call back over my shoulder and then slide into the crowd.

* * *

"Hey, what was that?" I ask, craning my neck to follow the vision of Prince Charming making a disgruntled exit stage right. "I thought these guys were your friends?"

"Teammates," Max corrects me, trying to turn my attention back to him by nipping at my earlobe, but I'm still staring at the denim clad back of the dark haired boy with the sweet smile and the deeply soulful eyes. "And now, ma douce, you are making me jealous." Considering that I can no longer find him in the crowd, I turn my attention back to the man on whose lap I am sitting and give him my best innocent bat of my fake eyelashes.

"I just wondered why he seems so pissed off at you." Searching his face, it seems clear that Max isn't entirely sure himself why his friend is in such a huff, but then he shrugs and goes to use his hands to talk and that leaves me slipping off of his lap and down onto the floor and unceremoniously onto my ass.

"Fuck! Je suis désolé!" Max is immediately onto his feet pulling me onto mine while I rub at the spot on my ass cheek that I'm sure will be black and blue in no time.

"You see what that fucking queen does? Throwing a pissy little tantrum and your girl ends up on her ass." I turn to see Jordan with his arm around the waist of his date, a huge livid hickey on his neck, looking happy and drunk all at the same time.

"Q…queen?" The word doesn't sound right on my tongue. Something in my head screams that it's unfair that someone that pretty should bat for the other side, but then again, the other part of my brain says `of course'.

"He just likes having me all to himself," Max explains going to brush at the back of my skirt with his hand but I bat his away and smooth the back of my skirt down myself while Trina gives me just the slightest shake of her head to say `_you're good to go'_. It's only then that what my date has just said sinks in and I turn to Max, tipping my head to one side as I stare at him, disbelief clouding my vision as I try in vain to look for anything about his masculine form, his stubble, his broad forehead and that Roman nose that looks like there's been more than a couple of attempts to beat it into the other side of his head, that would suggest in even the tiniest way that he could possibly be a double agent. "No, _no_, you don't understand," Max suddenly gets why I'm staring at him and a bark of laughter erupts all around me. "I'm not like that! Ne vous inquiétez pas de ton jolie petite tête à ce sujet," he insists, and though I'm not really sure what he's saying, I get the jist that it's meant as both a compliment and an assertion of innocence. "I'm as straight as they come, mon petit chou, believe me," he adds, giving me that same cocky grin that says he will happily and skillfully take care of any sexual cravings I might have at the drop of a hat. "We were just roommates and we hang a lot, both of us coming from Montréal," he explains with a shrug, as if there couldn't possibly be any other explanation for what has just happened.

"C'mon you guys. Don't go tagging Tanger with that shit," Trina begins and I turn and look up at her but Jordan is shaking his head, like whatever she's about to explain is verboten. "Well?" she tries again but the big man just shakes his blonde locks and she rolls her eyes and shrugs as if to say `I tried'.

"So he's really…," I pitch my voice low and glance around, realizing that even if he is out amongst his teammates that he probably isn't in general. "He's really gay?"

"Oh Kris is a total fag alright. He's got more fucking hair products in his bathroom than I've ever used in my entire fucking life." One of the other guys, the young one who looks a little like a monkey mated with a pig, chimes in as he arrives with a pitcher of beer in each hand. "Now who's going to help me drink these?"

The entire discussion forgotten in the light of the arrival of free cold beverages, Max and Jordan and the rest of their remaining teammates fall on the pitchers of beer like carrion birds on a corpse and leave me, standing at the rail, searching the crowd for their shy, beautiful teammate, feeling a little wistful and just a little bit proud of him at the same time.


	4. Chapter 4

_All these pick-up lines from hell  
Icebreakers infernal  
from a heart so black and blue  
only for you_

_I'm not afraid to admit I adore you  
any more than I was before, babe  
I am scared to death, I am scared to death  
to fall in love  
with you_

_with you..._

_scared to death..._

_I'm scared to death.._

_And you're sweet like poison_ (lyrics from "Scared to Death" by Ville Valo, HiM)

**Chapter 4**

"At least he's not here this time so there's no chance of catching him in his underwear," my sister says in that tone that says that I'm a constant source of embarrassment to her. I consider telling her that I know he's not home, that I think he's in Columbus or Detroit or something like that but then decide to keep my mouth shut, that she'd only tell me that he's only seeing me because I'm easy or that he'd never take me seriously if he knew that I lived in a trailer park. It's nothing that I haven't already thought myself and I don't really want to hear it said out loud, so I just say nothing and follow her inside.

"I'll take upstairs," I mumble, grabbing a mop and a bucket and heading up the stairs that I would have gone up the other night if I had been the easy lay from the trailer park that my sister and my mother think I am. Max knows different. Not that he was happy about it but….

The bed is wrong.

Standing in the doorway, I stare at the big pine sleigh bed with fluffy looking quilt with its old fashioned homemade looking blue and white design. It's nothing like the four poster wrought iron king size bed Max has in his room with the black and red silk sheets.

"Jen!" I yell over my shoulder, frozen to the spot, staring at a family portrait of smiling faces around the Stanley Cup. Max isn't one of them but Kristopher Letang is. "Jen, we're in the wrong house," I yell again.

"We're doing both!" she yells back up at me, "they're right next door to each other." I mumble something under my breath about not telling me that isn't at all nice and something even worse about my being too tired and too stupid to notice as I walk over towards another picture of Kris with what looks like a bunch of club kids. His hair is up in some kind of pompadour, his smooth chest his bare and the elastic of his underwear is showing as he gives the camera a seriously sexy come hither look while snuggling up to a couple of girl with big hair and too much make up next to another guy wearing a necklace and a fairly serious fro.

There's another picture next to that one of him in the same outfit with a couple of the same girls and a few more thrown in for good measure, but he doesn't have his arms around them. He's not even touching them and the look on his face says that he likes whoever is behind the camera better than the present company anyway.

I wonder if that person is the one in a few of the smaller photographs in simple frames on the top of a dresser and on his bed stand. One of them shows him with some other buy with the same sort of thick, dark, un-groomed eyebrows but shorter hair and a wider, more confident smile, both of them holding a trophy and wearing medals. Right next to that one was with the same young man, but this time on a golf course, obviously sharing some kind of joke, looking close and intimate.

The last one was the one on his nightstand of the two of them in Canadian jerseys, arms around one another, looking up at something, a flag maybe. Comrades in arms or…more?

Feeling nosey, I turn my attention to his closet, opening the sliding slatted doors to find a perfectly organized system of both folded and hung clothing as well as one entire set of shelves for a variety of shoes from combat boots to expensive looking alligator loafers, in between which is quite a collection of trainers, few of which look as if they've ever been worn.

"Damn, definitely gay," I mutter to myself as I run my fingers over thick, soft cashmere sweaters and down subtly printed silk ties.

Besides the tasteful and expensive clothes and the organization bordering on OCD, there doesn't seem to anything to clean. Running my bare finger along the crown molding over the closet, there wasn't a grain of dust to be found. Nor were there any lumps of solidified toothpaste in the sink of the en suite, or a gross ring in the toilet. There was definitely no sticky mess on the floor which indicated to me that he had better aim than most men.

"Are you done snooping, or are you going to clean something?" I whirl to find my sister holding a bottle of bleach out toward me.

"Clean what?" I ask, going so far as to pick up the spin-brush sitting on the counter so I can run my thumb along the granite countertop beneath it, coming up with nothing. "Either someone's already been here and you have your schedules messed up or this guy is a neat freak and we're getting paid to do nothing."

This has my sister grabbing her cell and wandering off, muttering something under her breath about schedules and using particularly colourful adjectives for the receptionist, leaving me to stare at a picture of Kris and Max, one on either side of the Cup, huge grins on their faces.

Comrades in arms or….

* * *

"What the fuck was that about?"

I'm expecting it so it comes as no surprise when Max forcibly drags me down into the seat beside him in the plane and gives me that look, the one that says 'if we hadn't been friends forever I'd be kicking your ass right now'. On the other hand, even though I'm expecting it, I'm not about to just give in to his little green monster pity party.

"Qu'est-ce que tu racontes?" Max hates being toyed with, and his eyes grow dark with a threat that isn't usually aimed in my direction, but because I've been expecting it I don't flinch, though I should. I've been witness to the aftermath of a couple of go rounds with he and Jordan have had and neither time ended well.

"You, hitting on my girl," he snarls, giving me a look that dares me to deny it, which I do with a single shrug.

"I spoke to her, oui, but hit on her? Non mon ami, je n'ai pas flirter avec ton fille." I look him directly in the eye as I say it so he can see that I'm not lying. At least I don't think that I'm lying. Did I want to flirt with her? Of course I did and not just because she was pretty. Lots of the girls that hang around us at bars are pretty but there was something different in her eyes that drew me in. "I know the rules and I'm not GoGo or Gronk. I don't break the rules. She's your girl Max, c'est fini." Max stares me down and I let him because I feel guilty. I feel guilty for thinking about her sweet half smile and the way she looked at me from beneath her lashes. She might be his girl but there was something there, something between us and I know she felt it too. "You took her home didn't you?" I ask when I feel like I'm going to break, when I'm about to spill my admission like a teenager in confession after he's wacked off for the first time.

"No," he grumbles and sits back in his seat, starting at the back of the seat in front of him. "She said she had a headache or something; that she'd been drinking too much." It's all I can do to keep my expression neutral as I nod empathetically even while my mind is racing through the details of the night. She neither smelled of alcohol nor do I remember her ever having so much as a single drink in her hand.

"Meilleure chance la prochaine fois, mon frère," I offer to which he only shrugs one shoulder and continues to stare sullenly at the back of Flower's seat.

I tell myself not to read anything into it but there's a little part of me, somewhere in the pit of my stomach that does a little happy dance at Max's expense.

* * *

I can't help but compare the items in Max's closet as I dust his room, which can use it. He's definitely not as much of a housekeeper as his teammate.

Where Kris's closet was divided and carefully organized by type of clothing, colour and type of care required, Max's closet is a jumble of both wire and wooden hangers with everything, including his jeans, hung up and where Kris's closet was generally made up of more muted tones, Max's is a virtual rainbow of bright primary colours.

"Chalk and cheese," I mutter to myself as I head for Max's private en suite, which, in all honesty is not as bad as I'd anticipated. There are a few petrified wads of toothpaste in the sink and I'm not sure I'd actually sit on the toilet seat but I have seen worse.

I'm about to spray the mirror over the sink when my breath warms the cool surface and a message begins to appear. With a grin, I lean forward and blow, revealing a note scrawled in block letters:

_I hate that you're in my bedroom without me_

Shaking my head I spray the mirror and wipe the message away. He might not be the neatest member of his team but he's definitely charming. Sliding my cell out of the back pocket of my jeans I send him back a message that reads:

_Maybe we'll remedy that when you get back_

I'm half way through cleaning the shower when my phone vibrates in my pocket and it's not a text, it's a call.

"_That's not fair_," a voice thick with sleep slurs on the other end of the line. Stepping out of the shower, I peer out the en suite door, looking for my nosy sister.

"What's that?" I ask, knowing damn well what but wanting to tease him, especially considering the barely stifled long drawn out yawn I'm currently listening to.

"_Mmm, you're in my bedroom ma petite coquina favorite_," he growls, a sound that has my skin breaking out in chicken flesh all at once.

"To be honest, I'm in your shower," I correct him only to hear him groan, followed by the rustle of sheets. "What are you doing sleeping in the middle of the day anyway?" I ask, stepping out of the shower and sitting down on the cleaned, closed lid of the toilet.

"_We nap before a game, but how can I nap now with cette image in my head_?" he asks, and I can hear the sultry grin he's wearing in his voice. "_Qui va être impossible_. _Just tell me, promets-moi that you'll take care of this…condition when I get home." _

"And what condition is that?" I ask, playing the innocent, just to hear him groan out loud again.

"_I think we both know exactement what you do to me, mon petit chat_," he argues and I can't keep a straight face. I do know and it was only because his handsome teammate had thrown me off that I hadn't taken advantage of the state I'd left him in at the club but there had definitely been no doubt about how much he'd been enjoying my company.

"Well I suppose we'll have to see if you're a good boy or not," I chuckle, listening while he growls with frustration.

"_Go to my bed, open the drawer on the bedside table on the right hand side_," he instructs me impatiently, his words succinct and to the point, his tone abrupt. Getting up, I walk over to the King Size bed with its canopy of fairy lights and its mountain of lavish opulently embroidered pillows and slide my hand into the drawer of the table on what I assume is his side of the bed, with its photos of Max with what can only be his brothers and his mother. My fingers slide over a long, thin box covered in soft velvet and I know he hears my sharp intake of breath when he laughs. "_Open it_."

"Max…you don't even k now me," I sigh, pulling out the black velvet hinged box with shaking hands.

"_Just open it mon ange_," he insists in that offhand jovial way he has. Tipping the lid open I find myself staring down at a diamond tennis bracelet with a single charm hanging from it, a heart with the Pens logo that spins in the middle from each end of the hockey stick with a diamond in the centre of the Penguin's chest.

"Max…this is too much," I hiss into the phone, thinking more about my mother finding it and pawning it for booze and cigarettes, or worse, my sister finding me with it and thinking I stole it than about how truly pretty it is.

"_Just a little thank you for cleaning up after me_," he chuckles, steering the tone of the conversation in a more comedic direction, a talent, I've noticed, that he uses to his advantage a lot.

"Well then I hope you left one downstairs for my sister because whatever you cooked last is still all over the stove," I muse as I consider taking the fragile sparkling bracelet out of the box, but decide to close it instead. All I'd need now is Jen finding it, or seeing me on the phone, and having to explain it.

"_I promise I'll put an extra twenty in when I pay the bill for her_," he laughs as I slip the box into my back pocket. "_So, will I see you when I get back_?"

"When is that?" I ask, like I'm checking my date book, as if I have a line of suitors out the door waiting to ask me out and the inbred loser with the missing front teeth and rusty TransAm in front of his place in the trailer park doesn't count.

"_A couple of days, ma petite colombe, and then I will take you out somewhere coûteux et impressionnant and you can wear it for me, d'accord_?"

"I don't know what you just said but yeah…why, you can take me wherever you want Mr. Talbot," I add, throwing in some real Scarlett O'Hara Southern twang just to get even with his using his accent against me.

"Puis il est convenu," he adds with a throaty chuckle that reminds me that I've awoken him from his pre-game nap, "a black tie dinner for two, my treat, bien sûr, at the finest restaurant in Pittsburgh in two days time. Shall I pick you up?"

"Uh no," I mumble, beads of sweat breaking out across my forehead as I try and think of how I'm going to scrape enough together for another new outfit to wear. "You know you could just take me for hamburgers, or barbeque, I like a good rack of ribs," I offer, realizing at the last minute just how that could be taken.

"_A simple girl with simple tastes. Comme vous le souhaitez_," he adds and I can't help but hear the grin in his voice when he says it although I can't truly decide if it's genuine or a rueful sort of smile. "_I'll ask around and see if I can find a good restaurant de la bière et le barbecue, just for you sweet Rebecca. I'll text you when I get home_." I hang up and blow out the air that's accumulated in my lungs while I've been talking to him and then I can't help but laugh. You can take the girl out of the trailer park but apparently you can't take the trailer park out of the girl.

* * *

"Did you buy twenty of those…," Geno mimes the shape of something round around his wrist and looks perturbed that he can't think of the word.

"Bracelets," I tell him and shrug, "yeah but I only had a couple left and she's worth it."

"You like all the ladies," the big guy laughs, rolling over onto his side to face me and supporting his big head on his big hand.

"I don't know about all, but generally yeah," I agree with a yawn, "but there's something about this girl…don't know what it is but I like her…a lot." I hear a chortle and glance over to see the big Russian looking back at me with sincere disbelief on his face. "What? You have Oksana, Sid's got Tabby…why shouldn't I have someone too?"

"I never knew you are a…," he thinks for a moment and then smiles and nods, happy with where his thoughts have taken him, "sheep."

"Ouch!" I grab my chest over my heart roll my eyes back in my head and collapse back on my bed. "You kill me big guy. Here I am, opening my heart to you and you shoot me down like that and I thought you were my friend."

"I am friend," Geno laughs, tossing a pillow at me that lands right on my face. If there's one thing you can't fault the big lug for it's his aim. "That's why I tell you I think is funny you can be with one girl only. Eto tol'ko nyeestestvennoe." I toss his pillow back and raise my eyebrow at him, which is one of the ways we have of reminding one another to speak English. "It not…not Superstar" he manages and I shrug and roll back on to my back, my arms behind my head as I close my eyes.

"Yeah well, I think you better get used to the idea of Superstar being off the market big guy because I'm telling you…there's something about this girl…something different and I plan on getting to the bottom of it."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Pulling up outside of Big Sam's I find myself grinning when I see Becks standing outside of the front door in a pair of skin tight well worn, faded jeans and one of those artfully ripped up concert t-shirts that falls over her shoulder baring a leopard print bra strap and at least a couple of those loose fitting belts slung low over her hips with all the silver studs and loops. The outfit is topped off with a pair of shiny black platform heels that wouldn't look out of place dancing around a pole. It's cheap, it's rocker chic and somehow she pulls it off, looking like a Vogue cover model slumming it on a sunny Sunday afternoon and when she tips her rhinestone encrusted sunglasses down and smiles in my direction I grin back thinking she's my cover model.

"You're late," she admonishes me as she turns her head to spit a wad of well chewed bright pink bubble gum out on the sidewalk.

"You could let me pick you up," I point out to which her only reply is to laugh, toss her hair back over her shoulder and lean in for a long, simmering kiss that leaves me wanting to take her straight back into my car, skip the food and go straight for the sex I've been day dreaming about for days. Instead, I reach for her hand, only to find myself staring down at another set of bike chain, black rubber and silver stud accessories on her wrist where I'd expected the elegant diamond tennis bracelet. "You're not wearing it?" I ask, turning my eyes up to meet hers and I realize that I'm expecting her to have broken into a sweat, for her to stammer out some half assed obviously bull shit explanation about having lost it.

"I'm about to have barbeque sauce up to my elbows," she answers with a snicker, giving my hand a squeeze and turning around to pull me into the restaurant. "Did you want me to lose it in a vat of extra smoky sauce?" Shaking my head and laughing at my own bias, I stumble after her, wondering how she can not only walk backwards in those six inch heels but how I didn't realize that she's also taller than me in them and that I don't actually mind.

"Becky! Becks!" Her name seems to ring out from everywhere and I find myself following the echo of the sound of her name from the front of the restaurant to the back before I turn curious eyes on her.

"I kinda like barbeque," she explains with a shrug and a not very innocent bat of her long eyelashes. I had picked the restaurant. Well, I'd asked around and some of the guys had heard about the place, mostly from some kind of contest that it had either won or was held here, none of us were quite sure. It isn't really the kind of food we're normally allowed to eat during the season.

"You here to eat me out of house and home Becks?" A handsome, very tall, and very dark African American man with a long row of very straight, very white teeth meets her with a crushing hug and I watch her practically disappear into him while I stand there still wondering what the hell is going on.

"Becky?" I ask as she turns around, looking sheepish.

"Okay, so I kinda won a wing eating contest once," she mumbles, rolling her eyes like it's no big deal, except the big man with the big plastic menus in his hand laughs out loud, throwing his head back as his belly jiggles with mirth.

"Once?" he snorts, shaking his head as he gives her a little push that nearly sends her flying except that I'm between her and the wall, "Rebecca is the Pittsburgh wing eating champ three years running," he says to me which makes her groan and give him a very dark look, which I make a mental note never to be on the other side of.

"Thanks Samson," she sighs, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. "It's not like I'm not obviously on a date here. Kinda making me out to be some kind of pig when we can all clearly see that I'm not," she adds, rubbing his generous ponch before placing her hand over her flat stomach.

"Yeah, I've never figured out where you put all of those wings. I've always thought you were cheating," Samson laughs heartily but I can tell just by the way he looks at her that their relationship is almost fraternal and that he doesn't really mean it, but looking at her, I can't help but wonder myself.

"Speaking of wings," she grins at him, ignoring his taunting remark, "find us a table and bring me a big basket of the little buggers will you?"

"Same as always?" he asks, and she nods enthusiastically. "You got it Becks. Why don't you take your man out on the patio? I'll be right back."

"So…how many chicken wings did you eat?" She makes a face but then shrugs and gives me a half smile.

"I don't know…," she begins until I raise my eyebrow at her and then she rolls her eyes and lets out a long sigh. "Okay, last year it was a hundred and forty-eight in fifteen minutes." I'm shocked and not entirely unimpressed by the feat and it must show on my face because I can't stop staring at that little strip of bare skin between the bottom of her t-shirt and the top of her low slung jeans. "It's just little bits of chicken sucked off little bits of bones, and don't look at me like that," she laughs, giving me a playful cuff across the cheek, "what are you, twelve?"

"It's just you said suck and my mind just went blank," I explain, laughing as she turns with an impatient huffing sound and struts away from me towards the patio. I watch her go for a moment, admiring the view as I think how this girl is a never ending set of mysteries and how much I'm enjoying unraveling them all.

* * *

"I told you," I grin across at him, using one of the wet naps I had stashed in my purse to wipe a smear of barbeque off of his cheek. "So do you forgive me for not wearing the bracelet now?"

"I don't think I've ever seen a woman dive into her food like that," he chuckles, sitting back and spreading his fingers over his stomach, making a face like he shouldn't have eaten that last hush puppy. "Not that I'm complaining," he adds quickly with one of his devious grins. "It was kind of a turn on to watch you suck the meat off of all those bones."

"Yeah?" I grin over at him, sticking my thumb in my mouth and sucking the last spot of barbeque off it, watching his gaze settle on my thumb as it disappears into my lips as his gaze becomes unfocussed.

"Oui," he replies breathlessly as I ease my thumb out, a millimeter at a time, until it comes out clean with an audible 'pop'. "Tabernak! Si vous ne me prenez pas la maison et me fair l'amour ma tête va exploser." It's funny how I'm beginning to get the hang of this French language, or at least half the time I don't need a literal translation to get the gist of what he's saying. The look of pure, unadulterated lust on his face as I reach across the table and insert his index finger into my mouth to lick a spot of sticky red sauce from it is enough. "Your place or mine?" he asks suddenly, springing to his feet and digging in his pocket for his wallet, pulling out a handful of bills and tossing them onto the table.

"So that's it? A few wings and a couple of ribs and I'm all yours?" I ask, sitting back in my chair and crossing my arms over my breasts, regarding him with skepticism.

"I didn't…I thought…." Looking crestfallen and a little embarrassed, Max stands there across the table from me like a little boy whose just had his hand slapped and is waiting for a scolding.

"You're funny," I laugh, grabbing my purse and pushing my chair back with a loud scraping noise. "Like I made your bed for no reason."

"So it's my bed?" he growls, giving my ass a hard enough smack that I can't help but let out a yelp as he reaches past me to push open the door to the parking lot.

"What? You don't think I'm going to look amazing on all that shiny black satin?" I ask as I walk around to the passenger side of his sleek, dark car.

"If you make me imagine that we won't get very far," he warns, stopping to look at me over the roof of the car, with a sort of half assed grin on his face that's kinda like throwing a red flag in front of a bull.

"Oh so you mean you don't want to think about me, naked, in your bed," I begin, hooking my thumb beneath one of my bra straps and pulling it down over my shoulder.

"Tabernak! Get in the car," Max groans, sliding into the driver's seat while I giggle hook my thumb under the waistband of my panties, pulling it up over my hip so he's forced to see it. "Do that when I'm driving and we'll crash."

"Do what?" I ask batting my eyelashes at him before flipping my hair over my shoulder, bending over and reaching for the fly on his jeans. I wait for him to object but all I hear is a long low groan and the sound of the seat sliding back as I slide my lips down over his half flaccid dick.

* * *

I'm scared to death. I'm probably more turned on than I've ever been in my entire life but I'm also scared to death.

With my pasty white ass pressed against the window, I can't help but glance nervously around as Becky struggles out of her tight jeans, pushing them over her hips and wiggling like a happy puppy beneath me as I hold myself over her, partially because there's nowhere else for me to go and partially to help give her the sense of privacy I no longer have because somehow I'm already naked as the day I was born while she's still got her heels and jeans on.

All I know is we're somewhere between the restaurant and my house and that with her lips wrapped around my dick, I don't want to or maybe can't wait until we get back to my place. I pulled into what I am praying is an empty alley, and it didn't take more than that to get Becks to hop into the back seat and yank off her top.

Grabbing one of her feet, I marvel for a second at the width of the platform on her shoes and the slim, almost weapon like narrowness of the steel stiletto before tugging it off and tossing it into the front seat and then grabbing at the bottom of her jeans and sliding them off over her blood red toenails. Now all that's between us is a pair of black bikini bottoms with the word 'rowrr' written across her mound in leopard print.

There's a joke in that, I know there is, but right now my mind can't form the words to say it out loud. Later, maybe in the dressing room tomorrow, it will come to me, but for right now, all I want is inside those panties and inside of her. Grabbing her with one hand and the panties with the other, the little shred of material joins the rest of our clothes in the front seat while she rips a condom package open with her teeth. It's a savage sound and the grin she gives me while her teeth rip into the foil packaging sends a shiver down my spine and straight into my cock which is saluting her craziness in a painful sort of way.

I can't even manage a full word as she strokes the latex sleeve over my Johnson. All I can do is groan and mumble something unintelligible as she leads me down between her thighs, down into the dripping wet folds of her pussy and finally into the tight, hot centre of her and then I can't think at all. My brain is full of explosions, like the fucking Fourth of July, Canada Day and New Years fucking Eve all at once.

It takes a full minute before my brain can even send the signal down to my hips to move and even then, I'm more worried about slamming her head into the inside of the door or whether or not someone's going to look in and see me, Superstar, doing it in the alley like some kid out of grade school. But once I do start to move, once _we_ start to move, I forget about being seen or whether or not she's going to slide off the seat. Once I feel her hands on my ass, her nails digging into my skin, and watch her mouth fall open and realize that I've done that, that _I'm_ the one making her arch her back off of the leather seat and squeal like an eight year old girl getting an easy bake oven for Christmas, I stop worrying about getting caught and then all I can think about is how good it feels inside of her, how hot and wet and fucking tight she is.

"Merde woman! Fuck I'm not going to last long," I manage to pant, hanging onto one headrest while I brace my other arm against the back of the passenger seat.

"That's okay," she grins back up at me, her eyes flashing in the full dark. "This is just an appetizer lover," she promises as she meets me thrust for thrust before tipping her head back and letting out a feral growl that sounds like it should be coming from a mother bear and not the full, pink lips slightly stained by hot sauce that recently looked so amazing locked around my cock. "Oh yeah! Do that _again_!"

* * *

"Quitter!"

I give his ass a hard, open handed slap, admiring the red, perfectly hand shaped welt it leaves behind. But it doesn't make him move. He just lies there, prone, naked, on his stomach and groans.

"I can't…feel…my dick," he moans, his face pressed into the only pillow remaining on the bed. The rest are either on the floor somewhere, or shredded, in pieces, with feathers scattered everywhere, including in his hair. Plucking one of the small grey feathers out form his light brown locks, I bend down to press my lips lightly to the tip of his hair. "Non, arrêter. I can't do it anymore. If I try again it might fall off."

"Oh I don't know about _that_," I whisper, curling my body next to the immobile flesh that is his body. "I pulled pretty hard on it before and it didn't come off." This description earns me another groan but his hand also twitches, moving faster than the naked eye can see, and his fingers curl around my wrist.

"I think there's something wrong with you," he says quietly, turning so that I can just see one green eye surrounded by a fan of long, dark lashes. "I'm a fucking professional athlete and you have just complètement worn me out. What are you? Some kind of succube?"

"I prefer the term _sexual vampire_," I purr back at him, hooking my leg around the back of his so that I can bring my entire body in line with his warm, languid one. "If it makes you feel any better," I add, nipping at his earlobe, "I can't remember the last time anyone could even keep up with me this long."

"And what did you do with votre dernière victime? Bury him? Burn him?" he asks, a playful smile creeping across the half of his mouth I can see.

"Oh him," I roll my eyes and shrug before pulling my hand free and giving his ass another hard, vociferous, slap. "I had Samson cook him out in his smoker, covered him in barbeque sauce and ate him." With a snort and a shake of his head, Max reaches for me and pulls me against his body before reaching for the sheet and pulling it up to both of our chins.

"Well then I'll just have to do better. Let me sleep," he begs with that devilish grin of his, "just for a _un peu de temps_, and then…I think there is some whip cream and some sauce au chocolat down in the fridge you can eat me with."


	6. Chapter 6

_Love is the devil counting teardrops in the rain  
To the sound of a chalkboard symphony played with nails  
For what it's worth I don't wanna see you hurt anymore  
Than you have to_

(lyrics from Love, the Hardest Way Ville Valo, HiM)

**Chapter 6**

"I hate that look."Glancing up and following Jordan's line of sight, I find myself staring into Max's smug face. Shrugging, I return to tugging at the laces on my skates.

"So don't look," I suggest, wrapping the laces around the top of one boot before tying a tight bow before reaching for my other skate.

"But he's got that face on…that I've had sex and you haven't face," Jordan grumbles, sending another dark and threatening look towards our too happy teammate.

"You fighting with Heather again?" I ask, which earns me an unhappy look and something colourful muttered under his breath about my not being very supportive. "I don't like the look either," I tell Jordan, not really to be supportive but because the look doesn't bother me as much as the vision that I can't quite get out of my head. I had to watch him running into his house, holding his t-shirt and jeans bunched in front of his junk while his new girlfriend raced ahead in just her bra and panties. It's an image I can't shake. "I had to listen to them all night."

"No one put a gun to your head and told you to sleep with your window open," Max interjects, making me look up at the still too happy expression that seems permanently fixed on his face.

"You know I always sleep with it open," I mutter, knowing it doesn't make a difference to him, that maybe it makes things worse. I hate to think that some of what I hear coming from his bedroom might be overacted for my sake, but I know it's possible.

"Does Max have himself a screamer?" our captain asks, the grin on his face saying he doesn't much care about the answer but isn't above stirring the pot. Sometimes the boy wonder can be a real asshole.

"Mostly it was Max doing the screaming, from what I could tell," I answer, knowing I'm being just as unhelpful, though I should know better and Max doesn't disappoint as he grins even more broadly at me.

"Someone sounds jealous," he begins and before I can make a counter claim of any kind, he laughs and turns to walk away. "Oh wait, I keep forgetting, you'd have to actually remember what having sex feels like to be jealous."

"Oh c'mon Maxie," Sid pipes up and I feel my entire body stiffen, anticipating what's coming next. "Kris is just worried about losing you to some girl, aren't you Tanger?" he asks, his dimples deepening as he turns to me.

"Ha ha, très drôle," I mumble and psychologically extricate myself from the group, returning my attention to my skates, letting my hair drop in front of my face and doing my best to ignore the rest of the jibes and sarcastic comments tossed around the room at my expense.

* * *

"What time do you call this?" My blood freezes in my veins and my shoes drop out of my hand with a resounding clatter that makes me wince and flinch, half expecting one of my mom's slippers to go flying past my head. "Why don't you just stay out? Don't worry about your poor old mom and what the neighbors will think of my whore of a daughter who stays out all night, not worrying about her poor old mom."

"First of all," I begin, rolling my eyes and giving up on all pretense of sneaking around and going straight for the coffee pot, which, I notice, hasn't even been rinsed out since yesterday. "I wasn't aware you'd suddenly developed some kind of fatal disease," I grumble as I rinse out the pot and put it back on the warmer, lifting the lid and taking out the used, gummed up and cold filter and tossing it in the garbage under the sink. "And second of all, most of our neighbors are still passed out or sleeping off last night and I'm pretty sure no one gives a shit about what time I get home."

Having put the coffee on to percolate, I begin to head for my room and some clean clothes, feeling my mother's beady little eyes on my back. I'm tired, and everything aches in that bone deep way that only a night of truly exuberant sex can bring about and the fuzzy feeling of afterglow is gone now that I'm wandering around in day old panties. Now is not the best time to pick a fight with me, and you would think my mother, of all people would recognize that.

"Anything could have happened to me during the night. You know I'm not well," she begins in that whiny, accusatory voice that makes me feel like she's sticking pins under my fingernails. Part of my brain, the sane part, the smart part, tells me to leave it alone, to nod and say nothing but when I haven't had my coffee and my brain is more than a little fuzzy from lack of sleep, I rarely listen to the smart part.

"You have M.S., you're not dying…yet," I mutter, emphasizing the last word like it's a chocolate covered cherry truffle that tastes so delicious that I want to savor the idea of it. "So instead of sitting around waiting for me to come home, maybe you should be doing what the doctor suggested and using that tread mill that I worked my butt off for or, you know, go outside and go for a walk instead of sitting around here feeling sorry for yourself and chain smoking," I add viciously, making a grab for the cancer stick in her hand that's about to drop a long, thin, strip of ash on the carpet. "Or maybe I'll get lucky and you'll burn the place down around yourself and I won't have to listen to you bitch and moan anymore," I grumble when she pulls the cigarette out of my reach.

"Is that what this is about?" she asks, getting that dangerous glint in her eye that not only says the effects of the scotch I can smell on her breath have not even begun to dissipate, but that she's about to do or say something truly and deeply nasty. Bracing myself, taking a deep breath, I get ready for her to do or say the worst, most manipulative, most personally hurtful words, but instead she pulls something out of the pocket of her well worn, thread bare baby chick yellow bathrobe and then turns her hand over and lets it dangle from her fingertips.

It's my bracelet, the one Max gave me.

"You went into my room?" God knows we've had a thousand fights, but this is a new low even at her most scotch soaked.

"So is this what you're doing? Hooking for baubles and trinkets?" she asks venomously, her lips pulling thin across her tobacco stained teeth.

"Fuck you," I hiss, making a grab for the diamond bracelet, but she pulls her hand back and it disappears up the sleeve of her robe.

"Maybe you think if you give your sugar daddy good enough head he'll take you away from all this? Is that it? You're going to leave me here, all on my own, to fend for myself until they turn me out on the street. Is that what you want?" There it is; the guilt trip, the threat that keeps me tied to her. I'd no sooner see her on the street than myself but she has to remind me of my duty as her daughter. As if I need reminding.

"Give it to me," I sigh, trying my best to keep my voice calm as I hold my hand out towards her

"I don't know why you can't be more like Jenny," she says, summoning tears that I know are just as fake as her tattooed on eyebrows. "You've always been such an ungrateful child."

"Oh yeah, because Jenny's the one paying for your smokes and the Johnny Walker you polished off last night, bitch. I get one nice thing and you have to make it dirty," I snap, turning and slamming my bedroom door in her face. I don't feel good about it and for a minute I think about opening the door and actually apologizing for being a complete and utter cunt, but then I hear the unmistakable sound of glass shattering against the other side of the door, right where my head is.

"You're a whore! And no daughter of mine is a whore."

It's not like I haven't heard it before and it's not like I don't think she has the right to be pissed, but right then, I'm tired, I'm short on patience and it just feels like the last straw. So with a shake of my head and a irreverent smirk, I grab the nearest thing that passes for luggage, a garbage bag, and begin to stuff my shit in it.

* * *

"Max! There's a visitor for you!"

Everyone turns to look at me as I'm about to step off of the ice. Furrowing my brow, I shrug. Usually, on hearing that news, I'd expect one of my brothers but I haven't had a text or call from anyone in my family saying they were coming and they know better than to just show up, unannounced.

I hand my stick to the equipment manager and am pulling my helmet off when I get a glimpse of Chestnut waves and faded blue jeans and feel a grin spread across my face.

"Can't get enough of me, eh pitoune?" I call as I follow the rubber mat into the hallway where she's leaning, one leg bent up so that her foot is tapping the wall just beneath her shapely ass. She turns towards my voice, but where I'm expecting a big, sexy grin, instead I see that she's biting anxiously on her thumb nail. "Whoa, is something wrong?" I ask, taking in the tracks that tears have made through her foundation and the silvery glimmer of still unshed tears in her eyes.

"Look, I know this is like…I mean you hardly know me but, I was just wondering if I could maybe crash at your place, just for like…maybe a couple of days until I find something else."

"Yeah, sure." The answer is out of my mouth before my brain engages and starts asking questions like '_are you thinking with your dick_?' and '_how do you know she's not some kind of axe murderer?'_ but the relief on her face is tangible and the way she looks at me it's like I'm her knight in shining armor and suddenly my chest feels broader and my shoulders wider. "Do you wanna tell me what happened? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she sighs, her shoulders slumping like she can finally let herself relax. "I just couldn't take it anymore, you know?" I don't but I nod like I do because it seems like what she needs is a sympathetic ear, not a bunch of questions from some guy dripping sweat all over the place.

"Look, I'm just going to go and get showered and changed," I explain, getting a whiff of my own funk as I shake off one of my gloves so that I can reach out and carefully wipe away a tear that is making its way down her cheek. "Then I'll come right back here and we'll go back to mine and get something to eat, maybe that will make you feel better, d'accord?" She nods and gives me a childlike smile that is all kinds of grateful and it makes me want to hug her but instead I turn and head for the dressing room with a funny sort of smile on my face.

* * *

"Did Max make you cry?"

She's the last thing or person I expect to see slumped against the wall of the corridor that leads to the dressing room. Security is pretty good about keeping puck bunnies out of this area, so we don't usually see girls down here unless it's one of the guy's girlfriends and I don't recognize her right away. Not in the faded jeans with the holes in the knees. It's only when she runs her hand through her dark waves that something clicks in my head and I find that I'm smiling, happy to see her, but just as I open my mouth to call out a hello she wipes her nose with the back of her hand and I realize that she's crying and then all I can think is that either last night wasn't as consensual as it sounded or I'm looking at a serious case of buyer's remorse.

"N…no," she sniffs, straightening as she pushes away from the wall and wipes quickly at the mascara that's ringing her eyes, making her look like she's taken a shot to the bridge of her nose. "Well…yeah kind of," she admits and I feel my hands curl into fists. "I had kind of a bad morning and…well he's going to let me crash at his place and I mean, I know he doesn't have to do that. He's pretty great isn't he?" My answer sticks in my throat and I manage, just, to nod as if I agree with her, which makes her smile, her dark eyes glittering behind her tears with an appreciation that I know Max doesn't deserve. "You're…Kris, right?"

"Yeah, that's me." It's stupid, but I get this idiotic grin on my face just to know that she remembers me, that she knows my name.

"You're friends with him, right?" she begins and I nod because it makes her smile and she has a beautiful smile. "Of course, you must be. You live next door to each other."

"Nos Francaphonie have to stick together," I tell her, which makes her smile broaden and she even laughs a little, ducking her head away so that her rich, chocolate brown waves fall into her face. As if I have no control over it, my hand reaches up and brushes her hair back, tucking it neatly behind her ear. She gives me a little grateful grin and then glances past me, towards the doors of the dressing room.

"I'm not going to get him into trouble am I? Being here?"

"No," I promise her, making a mental note to crack my stick over his head for leaving her out here alone like this when we have a new, tricked out player's lounge with comfortable couches, LED TVs and a fully stocked fridge.

"Good, that's good," she sighs like it's a huge weight off of her shoulders.

"I'll just hurry him up for you," I add, reaching for the bag at her feet. She tries to stop me but I'm too quick and it's already slung over my shoulder. "Let me just take you somewhere you can sit down and then I'll go find him for you." Her gaze searches mine, like she's looking for an ulterior motive and I wonder if she can see through me to that place where I'm thinking that Max isn't good enough for her.

But all she says is, "thanks," and follows me down the hall to where I push open the door and lead her to one of the leather couches where she sinks gratefully, looking like she'd like to curl up and go to sleep.

"Can I get you a drink or anything before I go?" I ask, because I don't really want to leave her all alone. She seems so defenseless, so ready to break into a million pieces that I actually have to work at not going to her and putting my arms around her so that I can promise her everything will be okay.

"No, I'm good," she says, giving me another one of those brave, pretty smiles that don't even take the edge off of the hurt that's plain in her eyes. I want so much to ask her about it but tell myself it's not my place, not my business, that she's not my girlfriend. So with a nod, I turn to go. "Kris?"

"Yeah?" Maudit! I'm like an eager puppy wagging my tail looking for approval when it comes to her.

"Don't tell him I was crying, okay?"

"D'accord," I agree, but I know it's a lie as soon as the word leaves my lips.

* * *

"How could you leave her like that?"

I look back at Kris's furious reflection in the mirror and smile.

"Je laisse toujours les plus vouloir," I grin back at him and watch as his face gets even redder.

"Sacrement Max! She's balling her eyes out there. You don't just leave her in the hall for anyone to see. Do you never think about anything but yourself?"

"Mon crisse Tanger, don't get your panties in such a knot," I laugh, running my hands through my hair before arching my neck to get a better angle of the dark purple love bite on my neck. "I was just gonna be un moment, not leave her there all day," I promise, turning to grin at him which only makes him grind his teeth together. "Calmes-toi mon ami, I'm on my way to save ma jolie fille."

"Tu es un âne," he growls at me, running his hands through his wet hair, slicking it to his head before shaking his head as if to tell himself I'm not worth arguing with, but just as I'm about to slip my shoes on and go, he obviously loses that argument with himself. "Are you seriously moving her in? You don't even know her."

"Jaloux, beaucoup, mon ami très solitaire?" I ask, watching his nostrils flare before he storms into the shower, in full gear. I watch him go, shaking my head and thinking that our Krisopher is far too sensitive sometimes.

"You really moving her in?" I turn to see Jordan staring at me like I've grown another head or something.

"It's temporary. She must have had a fight with her roommate or something," I shrug. That's what I've decided must have happened and why she's never let me pick her up or drop her off. She must have the roommate from hell. "Besides, you know what they say about a blowjob a day?" I add, laughing when he rolls his eyes at me. "You're jealous. You're _all_ jealous," I add, laughing when Sid shakes his head contemptuously at me. "I'm going home to have more monkey sex. See you suckers later," I call over my shoulder as I head out the door and down the hall, finding it empty.

Tanger….

Turning I push open the door to find Becky sprawled out on one of the sofas, eyes closed, her soft lips slightly parted, her cheek resting on her forearms, fast asleep. Poor kid, guess I really wore her out last night.

"C'mon ma copine," I whisper, sliding my arms beneath her prone form and lifting her up to cradle her against my chest. "Let's get you home."


	7. Chapter 7

_I walk the line of the disappointed_  
_I celebrate when I'm in pain_  
_My heart and mind can be disjointed_  
_I built a bed in this hole I made_  
_I recognize that I'm damaged_  
_I sympathize that you are too_  
_But I wanna breathe without feelin' so self-conscious_  
_But it's hard when the world's starin' at you_

(lyrics from "What are you Lookin' For" by Sick Puppies)

_just a note to say 1. Smut ahead and 2. I know some of you don't really like it when I use a lot of French but one of my friends helped me out with some truly colourful and foul language and I think it's kinda hawt so I suggest using google translator and if you can't translate it, let me know_

**Chapter 7 **

I can't remember the last time I woke up feeling absolutely rested, like I could run a marathon right away, no stretching needed. Warm, rested and cradled in a mountain of pillows, I almost don't want to open my eyes in case I've been dreaming about the luxurious bed in the beautifully furnished home that seems a lot like a palace and yet the strong, earthy aroma of coffee tickling my nose has me yawning and reaching full awareness.

"Oh good, you're awake. Tea or coffee? I couldn't decide."

"Oh god, coffee please," I grin, reaching for the steaming mug of hot inky goodness and holding it in both hands while sticking my nose right in the steam. It smells strong and rich, just the way I like it. I hear Max chuckle while he puts the tray down on end of the bed and picks up the delicate china tea-cup and makes a show of sticking his pinky out while he takes a sip.

"So are you feeling better this morning?" he asks, reaching for a bear claw which he unabashedly munches on, crumbs falling down his t-shirt.

"Yeah, I am, thanks," I grin at him and am rewarded with a pleased, self satisfied smile that says he's proud of being the man who came to my rescue. "And thanks for letting me stay," I add, letting him pop a piece of the sugar and cinnamon encrusted dough into my mouth.

"To be honest, I kinda liked having you here," he says sweetly, brushing some stray sugar from the corner of my mouth. "And before you say it, I don't say that to all the girls," he added, his tropic breeze blue green gaze softening as it holds mine for a long moment before he leans in and presses his lips briefly to mine.

I have a moment to enjoy the soft press of his lips before the scalding heat of the tea pouring out of his cup down my chest makes me drop my own coffee as I scramble out of the bed, screaming and running for the en suite. Ripping the t-shirt he'd put me in before putting me to bed, I reach for the tap but Max pushes me into the shower and cranks on the cold water.

At first the freezing cold spray is almost worst than the burning sensation heating my skin, but then I feel the solid warmth of Max behind me, and then it's not so bad. Maneuvering me to the side, he angles the shower head to the side and away from me so that can just reach up and hold a wash cloth beneath the spray which he then presses to my red, scalded skin.

His touch is tender but the look in his eyes, the real, honest to god remorse and distress is even more poignant and after a few minutes of his careful ministrations the washcloth gets discarded in favor of the light brush of fingertips and the warm press of lips to chilled skin. When or how he turns the water to warm, I don't know, but I'm not cold for long or at least the only part of me that remains cold is my back where it's pressed against the tiles where his cock has me pinned while the rest of me is wrapped around him, holding on for dear life.

The sting of the burn is completely forgotten in the midst of the twining of tongues, fingers digging into hair and skin and urgent meeting of our bodies. I've heard about endorphins and their effect on pain, but I've never really understood it until now. With his cock buried deep inside of me, his teeth and lips on my neck, the coarseness of his unshaven cheek on my skin and the steam and heat of the shower has every nerve ending in my flickering like I'm tied to the stake and being burned alive, except that I like it.

I like hearing the words whispered hoarsely in my ear in the language that I don't understand as his thrusts become more erratic, harder, faster. I like the way his thick fingers dig into the soft flesh of my ass as he pulls me down over him, even though I'm sure I'll be able to see the impressions of his hands on me for days. I like the sensation of his strong, straight teeth nipping at my bottom lip and the taste of sugar on his tongue. What I don't like is that I can hear my mother's voice in my head, telling me to fuck my sugar daddy good, wrap him around my finger so he'll keep me.

Shutting my eyes tight and burying my face in the crook of his neck I do my best to dismiss her spectral presence, concentrating instead on the tightening of my muscles at the base of my spine and the pressure in my belly that tells me I'm close, so close.

* * *

I want to be gentle. I mean to be until I dump scorching hot tea all over her and even then, my only intention was to help…until I get her out of the t-shirt she'd spent the night in and then all my good intentions go out the window.

Now I can't get enough of her mouth, of her skin, of the taste and feel of her. She's like a magnet and I'm a paper clip, helpless to do anything but be dragged to her, to attach myself to her and I don't want to let go. It's like when you go into a fight out on the ice. If you're going to fight, you drop your gloves and you go all in. You can't half ass it. You have to hate the guy.

This is like that. I can't just fuck her. Even when I feel her entire body shudder, hear her whimpering in my ear and feel her body tighten around mine, I don't want to stop. I want to keep going, keep having her make those sounds, keep feeling her body pressed to mine.

I've never believed all that lock and key shit. Even when Crosby told me when he met Tabby he just knew I couldn't believe it. I thought maybe it was just him, because he didn't have a lot of experience. Even after seeing the two of them so fucking loved up it makes me sick, I still didn't believe that you could feel that much that fast.

I think I could actually be fucking wrong.

As I lower her to her feet and turn her to face the wall, spreading her legs with my foot so that I can slide into her tight wet centre, I suddenly get the whole key and lock thing. Long ago I lost count of the number of women I've been with but I don't remember ever feeling like this; like I can't get enough of her and like her body was made to fit mine.

It's kind of freaking me out.

Even looking at her fingers spread out on the tiles, I can't stop thinking about how they look when they're wrapped around my cock or how they feel when they're laced with mine. Wrapping her wet hair around my hand, I gently tug her head up until she turns to look at me over her shoulder and the look in her eyes undoes me, completely.

"Sainte bénite!" My chest literally hurts as I watch her bite down on her bottom lip, tugging it into her mouth as her gaze slides up my chest until her eyes meet mine.

"Déguidine," she growls, having obviously picked up on one of my favorite sayings. I didn't think I could get any harder, but I feel my cock swell as she gives me another one of those looks that seems to say that she could fucking eat me alive, and I slam it into her, making her gasp out loud.

"Charrue," I groan, pulling my hand back that's been holding her hip and letting it drop down onto her ass, hard, leaving a livid red welt behind.

"Is that the best you can do?" she purrs back at me, licking her lips as grinds her ass against me.

"Christ de plote sale," I growl back at her, giving her ass another hard smack and pulling back on her hair enough that I can tell that it's just starting to hurt, but the look on her face doesn't change. The challenge is still there and then she tightens her pussy muscles around my dick and all I see is stars. "Sacrament de calvaire woman! I can't hold it."

"So don't," she grins, sliding one of her hands down the slick, wet tiles and then sliding it down her body and between her legs. I can feel the walls of her pussy clenching as she fingers her clit, and suddenly it's like I can't breathe. I've never, ever, been with any woman as uninhibited as she is. "C'mon Max, give it to me," she says in that breathless way that tells me that she's close again. As if I need to be told. I can feel those little waves building around my dick and I know as soon as she goes, I'll go too. She looks me right in the eye, something most women I fuck never do, and clenches her teeth as she fights to hold out until I let go.

"No way," I grunt, slapping her ass again, harder this time. "You first."

"Nuh uh," she hisses, grinning at me around her clenched teeth. And then suddenly I'm standing there and she's on her knees in front of me looking up at me with this impish look on her face as she continues to play with herself with one hand while she reaches for my dick with her other hand. "_You_ first."

"Aw crisse! Susse ma graine," I groan as she licks her way up the underside of my cock, her tongue sweeping over my head, stealing the breath from my lungs all at once. "T'envalles-tu ma cochonne?" I groan, wrapping her hair around my hand and wrist again so that I get an unimpeded view of her lips wrapped around my cock as I fuck her mouth, slowly, slipping my dick almost entirely out of her sweet lips before pumping in far enough to make her gag. It's fucking heaven and the entire time she's looking up at me, grinning around my cock like she can't get enough. "Tabernac, suce ma queue 'tite pute!"

I can't last. I want to. I want her hand wrapped around the base of my dick and the head of my cock bouncing off of her tonsils forever, but I can't last much longer. Not the way she's sucking my knob like a fucking pro. Especially not when she slides her hand down until she cups my balls and gives them a firm but gentle twist before she takes the rest of my shaft as far as it will go, sucking hard.

That's when I see nothing but stars and my knees get weak and all I can feel is balls exploding, sending what feels like a fucking litre of jizz down her throat. She gobbles it all, and licks my dick clean like she doesn't want to miss a fucking drop.

"I think I'm in fucking love," I mutter, putting my hand out to brace myself against the wall, not trusting my legs to hold me up.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Becky smiles seductively as she runs her thumb along the edge of her mouth, before sticking the digit between her lips and sucking it clean, her seductive gaze holding mine the entire time.

"No," I admit as I give her a hand up, even though it scares me to do it. "It's not usually my world getting rocked," I add honestly, surprising myself a little. Reaching behind her, I turn off the water and then I pull her into my chest, wrap her up in my arms and find myself searching her face, trying to figure out what it is about her, besides how god damn cute she is, that has me so fucked up.

"You'd better watch yourself Maxie boy," she whispers, still giving me that seductive half smile that makes me wish she hadn't just drained me dry, "you'll have a hard time getting rid of me if you keep giving out the compliments like candy."

"Not sure I can let you leave," I reply, giving into the siren song of her lips, covering her mouth with mine.

* * *

"Can't sleep?" I turn to see Becky leaning on the railing of Max's back deck, staring up at the sky, dressed in nothing more than a thin black satin robe that leaves most of her legs bare, cinched at the waist.

"I've got some issues with the mid day nap thing," I reply, leaving out the part about how I used to sleep like the dead, until recently. I watch her run her fingers through her long dark hair, watch it spill down her back and my hands itch to gather those soft curls in my hand, to feel how soft they are, to bury my face in the silken strands and lose myself in her sweet scent. Instead I sit on my back step, forcing my gaze back to my concrete patio.

"What happens when the season ends?" I glance back up to see her still staring up at the sky but I can tell by the troubled expression on her face that it isn't fluffy white clouds that she's looking at. "Do you go back to Montreal?"

"Me? Or me and Max?" I ask, knowing that she's asking about him, that I don't even enter into her thoughts. The slightest hint of a smile plays at the corner of her full mouth and then she turns and leans on the railing, making the robe gape around her cleavage.

"Max…," she shrugs and sighs, a bittersweet sound. "He goes back to where you guys are from, doesn't he?"

"We do, yeah," I tell her, watching resignation turn her Mona Lisa smile into something cheerless, disappointment drawing the colour from her face. "Not right away, this year anyway," I add, feeling like I have to do something to cheer her up, to take the edge off of the distress that's clear in the way she's gnawing at the corner of her bottom lip, the way that Sid does when he's thinking. "Sid…you haven't really met him but uh…most of us are going to his place. He's planning to get married this summer."

"I think Max told me," she sighs again and it makes me grind my teeth. Why hasn't he asked her to go? Can't he see what it's doing to her thinking of him leaving?

"We're not out yet," I remind her, and she nods mutely. "I mean…I don't think we're going all the way this year," I admit, running my hand through my hair, slicking it back. I'd never admit it to the rest of the boys, but none of us are playing as well as we did last year.

"He's not playing well though, is he?" she asks, looking straight at me, like she's daring me to lie. I don't. I nod and she nods in return, as if she didn't really need me to confirm what she already knows.

"Is it my fault…do you think? I mean, I know he just came back from injury and…." I shake my head and that brings back that half smile of hers'.

"It's hard to come back from injury," I explain, still feeling like I have to do something to alleviate her mood. "He isn't up to speed yet."

"Can he get traded?" My hands curl into fist and I make a mental note to ask one of the Habs players to put him into the boards, preferably head first, for me.

"This season, no," I tell her, getting to my feet and making my way over to where the fence between our houses so that I'm closer to her. "You should really be talking to him about this stuff." She nods, but wrings her hands like the idea of talking to Max is something she doesn't want to do which just brings back images of the two of them dashing into his place, mostly naked. It's not an image I want to dwell on.

"I don't want to be that girl, that clingy girl that he has to worry about," she sighs, resting her chin on the back of her hand and crossing one foot over the other.

"You don't seem like that girl," I offer and she gives me a sardonic sort of smile.

"You don't know anything about me."

"I could," I blurt out, my mouth engaging before my brain can edit my thoughts. Her smile actually grows, much to my surprise, and she straightens, looking down at me like she's actually contemplating the implied offer.

"I guess if I'm going to be living here, even for a little while, I should get to know Max's friends," she says finally, and then stifles a yawn behind her hand. "I'm gonna need some new clothes, considering I left without most of them. Wanna go shopping tomorrow? I mean, can you?"

"I'd love to."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"You're doing what?" Jordy's eyes are as wide as saucers, which is in complete contrast to the thunderous look on Max's face.

"You're the one who suggested it," I point out nonchalantly, but none of the fury leaks from Max's eyes as he stands over me, clenching and unclenching his meaty hands. "It's just shopping Maxime, je n'essaie pas de voler ton petite amie." I expect him to say that she isn't his girlfriend, but he surprises me by not arguing the point.

"And you _swear_ she asked you?" he asks instead, and I cross my heart in response.

"What are you going to do, put on each other's make-up and try on panties together?" Leave it to Jordan to fall back on his favorite topics, completely ignoring the fact that there's obviously something serious going down between me and Max.

"You did tell him to take her shopping for clothes," Sid reminds Max, without even looking up from spinning his stick as he tapes it. "I don't know if you've noticed but the first thing you say about her, every time you talk about her, is how cheap she looks."

"I don't," Max grumbles, but the guilt is written clearly on his face.

"It's just shopping," Flower points out as he tightens the buckles on his pads. "It's not like he's asking permission to take her to a hotel and fuck her." That does it. The entire room falls silent and it's like no one knows where to look, but none of them are looking at me or Max. "What?" Flower finally breaks the silence and looks up to find all eyes on him. "Guys and girls can be friends. I trust Kris around Vero."

"And I trust you around Tabby, sometimes," Crosby adds with a smirk towards Max who sticks his tongue out at him. "C'mon man, it's just shopping."

"Yeah, I guess," Max shrugs and then turns back to look at me. "It is just shopping…right? Like just coffee and shopping and nothing else, right?"

"Fuck, what are you jealous?" TK laughs, giving Max a shove as he walks by. "You just don't want Tanger hanging out with anyone but you, you fag," he adds maliciously, ignoring the exasperated glare I aim at him.

"I swear," I reply, holding my hand up in my best version of a Boy Scout pledge, even though we beat up Boy Scouts where I come from. "Give me your fucking credit card and I'll even make sure she buys something you'll like."

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

I wish I'd brought my phone with me when I walked down the stairs to find my sister unraveling the cord for the vacuum cleaner. The look on her face was precious.

"I live here now," I reply, walking past her into the kitchen and grabbing the coffee pot and a mug. I can feel her eyes on me, burning into my back and I don't need to see her expression to know it isn't pleasant. "That's right," I add, turning around once my mug is full and leaning against the counter, "I thought it was about time you took your turn looking after mom."

"You mean you saw this place and decided you could fuck your way into some money," she snaps back. I wish I was surprised but I'm not.

"Yeah because there's no chance he could have just found me attractive and liked me," I snap back, fighting the urge to hurl the mug of steaming hot coffee at her, except I remind myself of the sensitive red welt on my chest that I wouldn't wish on anyone.

"Does he have any idea how white trash you are and how many times you've been around the block?" she barks back at me, this holier than thou look on her face that makes me want to smack it off of her.

"At least I don't already have three kids and a husband that shoots beer cans in the back yard," I sigh, using the argument I've used against her since she started popping out kids when she was sixteen and it works, just like it always has.

"Fuck you, you little bitch. You can't just leave mom, she's sick." And there it is, the real object of her immediate resentment. It's not that I'm standing in Max Talbot's kitchen wearing nothing but a robe, with sex hair and a hickey the size of a silver dollar on my neck. It's that I'm not allowed to escape the trailer park if she can't, and I'm definitely not allowed to drop our dear, sweet mother on her.

"Yeah, well, now your sweet darlings can fetch her Johnny Walker and her smokes for her cuz I'm done," I shrug, going to the fridge for some milk, only to have my head snapped back when my sister grabs a handful of my hair and tugs, hard.

"She can't be around my kids," she growls and with her face only an centimeter from mine, I remember how she used to be able to scare me when I was a kid and that was before she was a mama bear.

"Yeah well _I_ can't be around her anymore and I've been looking after her since I was thirteen Jen and I'm _done_," I hiss back at her, pushing past the scared little girl inside of me.

"She's sick Rebecca," my sister reminds me, letting go of my hair and doing that 'I'm in control' little spin, like she wasn't just threatening to pull all of my hair out of my head. "You can't just leave her on her own."

"Then _you_ look after her," I hurl back at her, slamming the fridge door shut, "because if I go back there I am going to fucking _kill_ her with my bare hands."

"She's your mother Rebecca," my sister says in that superior condescending, superior, mother knows best tone that she's been using on me since I was learning to walk.

"She's your mother too, Jennifer," I remind her, digging my nails into the palms of my hands until I can see blood welling between my fingers, "and you have someone to help you, I don't. So you look after her for a change because you know what? I like it here and Max likes me and I've put up with her shit for long enough. I need a fucking break or I'm fucking serious, I'm going to fucking _kill_ her."

'Kill who?"

I whirl around, wiping the malevolent expression off of my face and replacing it with something that I hope looks neutral only to find Kris standing where I expect to see Max and the overwhelming feeling of relief makes my knees get weak.

"Just someone I know," I grin at him, wrapping him up in my arms because I feel like he deserves it just for being him at that moment. "I didn't know you'd be back already," I explain as I finally unwind myself from him and straighten my robe. "Where's Max?"

"He wanted to hit the weights after practice," Kris replies, giving me a quizzical look but hooking his arm in mine and leading me back towards the stairs. "So get dressed girlfriend because I have his credit card."

I can feel my sister's disbelieving gaze on our backs and it takes everything ounce of self control I have not to turn around and stick my tongue out at her like I'm five and getting away with something. Instead I just smile to myself and allow myself to relax against Kris and listen to his stories about what happened at practice and look forward to not having to be anyone or live up to anyone's expectations for the rest of the day.

* * *

Enfouaré.

Calisse de tabernack!

I'm sitting on my decorative stool, in Victoria's Secret, surrounded by lacey, frilly things and I know that she's in the dressing room, probably naked and I just sit here.

She's Max's girl, I remind myself, and I'm not the guy who hits on his friend's girl.

"What do you think?" Her voice makes me wince and makes my heart rate double all at the same time. Closing my eyes I count to ten and tell myself to breathe before turning around.

"He'll like that," I tell her, forcing myself to smile and not to stare at the way the deep purple velvet corset pushes her breasts up like an offering to the gods or the way the black leather hot shorts hug her hips, or how well both of them go with the knee high boots she's wearing.

"Of course he will," she grins back at me, hands on hips, looking like something out of Hustler, like something out of a teenage wet dream. "But do you think it's too much?" I can't imagine Max thinking that anything's too much and I don't really want to imagine much more about it than that.

"And these?" she asks, turning her toe out, making her leg look longer, the black satin pulling taught around her calf and my brain provides images of those legs wrapped around me, still in those boots and I decide to turn away before she sees it on my face.

"Très jolie," I tell her, staring at the floor between my feet instead. "You should get them."

"I don't know," she sighs, turning back to look at her reflection in the mirror, and I glance over my shoulder at her, admiring the view from this angle, the way those shorts hug across her ass. "They're too expensive," she adds with a sigh that's pure disappointment and then, with one last, admiring look at them, she comes over and sits beside me on the stool so that her hip and the length of her thigh is touching mine and starts to tug the zipper down.

"Let me buy them for you." I blurt out, my mouth motoring ahead of my brain again. "I mean, if you think Max would disapprove of the price," I add, knowing full well that he wouldn't, especially not after seeing them. Becky turns and peers at me like she's trying to decide what to think of my offer. "You should have them, if you want them," I add more quietly and am rewarded with a shy smile that makes my stomach hurt.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. I nod, because I don't trust my voice. I think if I open my mouth that I might tell her that right this moment I'm thinking about her lips and what they'd taste like. Her smile grows into a full grin and then she's got her arms around me and her lips on my cheek and I'm surrounded by her fresh, flowery scent and feel the boning in the corset and the soft swell of her breasts pressed into my side and I bite down, hard on the inside of my cheek until I taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth.

* * *

"Really?" I stand in front of the mirror in a plain black dress that goes all the way down to my knees, ties at my waist and has this sort of old fashioned sweetheart neckline. "It's kind of…boring don't you think?" I look back at Kris and he nods, smiling.

"It's classic," he tells me firmly, "and it looks smart on you."

"Smart?" I look back at myself and make a face. "I think the last time I wore a dress this long I was seven or something."

"You should get it," he insists, going back to reading one of the magazines that the store leaves sitting around for the men women drag along into the store, "and the yellow one. That one would be good for the wedding."

"He hasn't asked me, yet," I tell him turning to the side and peering skeptically at my reflection.

"He will," Kris replies confidently without even looking up. "Now go try on that suit."

"Where am I gonna wear a suit?" I ask, reaching for the zipper and making a face when I don't get it the first time.

"The WAGs have charity events to attend," he explains, his hand on the zipper, his breath on the back of my neck. I look at him in the mirror and feel my heart clench in my chest. He's so handsome, it's unfair.

"WAGs?" I ask, doing my best not to shiver when the back of his hand brushes my spine.

"Wives and girlfriends," he explains with a shy smile before stepping back and returning to his chair. "We do a lot of fundraising," he continues from his chair, "the WAGs help."

"And you think I'm a…a WAG?" I ask, holding the dress up as I slip into the changing room, my stomach doing a foxtrot at the idea of actually being included in such an official sounding group. For a moment there's only silence and then I realize that the sound I hear is a sort of laugh, more like a chuffing sort of sound.

"You don't?" he asks at last and I stand there, looking at my reflection in the mirror, with the livid, purple love bite on my neck.

"I don't know…. I don't know what Max thinks about me," I admit quietly, turning away from the insecure girl I see before me and reaching for the dark charcoal gray and lilac pin striped suit.

"He's crazy about you," a voice says from the other side of the door. "Honestly, I've never seen him like this about anyone," Kris adds in this warm, sincere tone and suddenly I feel bubbles rising in my stomach and there's a grin on my face that reaches from ear to ear.

"What about boyfriends?" I ask, partly to change the subject before he tells me anything else that will turn me into a grinning, giggling idiot. Silence greets my question and my heart sinks, realizing that I'm probably not supposed to know. "I'm sorry," I call. "You don't have to answer that. That's none of my business."

"I just…I can't think of anyone that applies to," he answers, sounding like he means it and as I slip into the slim fitting, hip hugging pants I realize that I feel bad about his answer. I can't imagine anyone as nice and as devastatingly handsome as Kris is going without, just because he has to stay in the closet.

"That sucks," I call back to him, pulling the jacket on and doing up the three buttons, surveying my new sexy corporate look as I do. "You have great taste in clothes," I add, opening the door and stepping out, doing a tight pirouette as I do. "I bet you'd have great taste in a…," I glance around the shop and see one of the sales girls watching us. "I bet you'd have great taste in a significant other," I add in a stage whisper, giving him a wink as I do.

He blushes and I have to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing his cheeks, the urge to squeeze him like Charmin is that strong.

"Put on that black satin number and hand that over to me. I'll get this stuff paid for and then I said we'd meet some of the gang for dinner," he says, ducking his head so that his long hair falls over his eyes as he marches right past me into the changing room to grab the dresses he's chosen before he turns on his heel and heads for the cash desk. I watch him go and heave a sigh. A hot specimen like that…it's just not fair.

* * *

"You know what it is," GoGo says, reaching over to ruffle Sid's newly shorn hair, "we're losing because you keep cutting your hair."

"Tabs likes it short," our captain replies defensively, looking to his unofficial fiancée for support and she leans over and kisses him softly, a contented smile on her face.

"That way he doesn't look so much like a degenerate pirate the way Tanger does," she purrs, smoothing her hand along the nearly shorn sides of his head while she looks at him with that look in her eyes that should be reserved for the bedroom. I gag and she turns to blow me a raspberry.

"You know, pirate is one of the top ten women's fantasies and that was even before Johnny Depp became Captain Sparrow." I turn to see Becks and Tanger walking into the restaurant weighed down by at least a dozen bags each. Becky is wearing a wide, happy grin. Tanger isn't. He's looking at her and then at Tabby with a hesitant look on his face. "And I like Kris's hair, it's soft," she adds, dumping her bags on the floor behind my chair before reaching back to run her fingers through his hair like an esthetician would. His cheeks flame crimson and we all watch while he pleads silently with wide dark eyes to stop.

"That's just because most women think they like bad boys," Mel pipes up, turning to her man and giving Johnny this big appreciative grin and not because she thinks he is one. She doesn't. She thinks he's got the whole white knight thing going on, which makes me turn to look at GoGo who's watching the two of them with clenched teeth. In their little threesome, he definitely fits the role of the black knight.

"Everyone likes bad boys." I look up to see Becks looking down at me, fierce desire written all over her face, smoldering grin and bedroom eyes as she straddles my lap and plants her lips directly on mine in a long, heated kiss. "Guess who's not wearing any panties?" she adds, whispering in my ear and grinding against my sudden and painful erection.

I feel a grin spread across my face that wasn't there a few minutes ago while I'd sat beside an empty chair between GoGo and Sid. Now, as she wraps her arms around my neck and settles onto my lap like she has no intention of using the chair, I feel myself grinning from ear to ear.

"Looks like you two had a successful shopping trip," Mel says, turning as much as her growing girth will allow to peer into some of the bags that Tanger has set down behind their chairs before he settles into one beside Vero and Flower. "You never told me you were available for pack mule duty Tanger," she adds, sending a perplexed glance his way while he picks the paper napkin off of his plate and begins to shred it.

"He has _amazing_ taste," Becky grins, leaning around GoGo to talk to Mel further down the table. "I bought some stuff I would have never even _looked_ at if he hadn't been with me. If hockey doesn't work babe," she adds, turning to send a warm smile at Kris who is now reaching for Flower's napkin, "you could definitely be a personal shopper. People pay big money for that kind of help you know." Tanger looks up and gives her a brief smile and then goes back to shredding the napkin in his hand, adding to the pile already on his plate. "I have to pee," Becks announces suddenly, giving me this look that clearly says I should take a hint and then she's up and gone and I'm watching her walk away in this black satin mock neck dress with cap sleeves that hugs her every curve but could pass as office wear if not for the matching knee high black satin boots that just scream sex. My dick twitches in my jeans and I push back from the table, intending to follow her, not caring if the whole restaurant knows I'm going to fuck her.

"Did you tell her I'm gay?"

The table falls silent and I freeze, my chair pushed back from the table, my hands still on the edge of it, my ass half off of my chair as I turn to look down towards where Kris is still shredding and I notice that Vero's napkin is gone now.

"Pardonez moi?"

"Avez-vous lui dire que je suis une tapette?" He looks up from his hands and stares at me, fury colouring his face, his lips drawn in a thin line, his eyes full of contempt. "Ainsi?"

"I guess, maybe," I reply, shrugging and then I complete the act of removing myself from the table and stand up. "Not that it matters if you're not after my girl."

"Je ne suis _pas après votre fille_," he growls and then reaches for Mel's napkin, only to have his hand smacked away.

I don't wait for the rest of the conversation, though I can hear Tabby's mother hen clucking behind me as I stride away from the table.

* * *

"Did you miss me?" I ask as the door to the bathroom bounces off of the wall with a loud crack and Max strides towards me with purpose, his fingers already working on his fly.

"What does it look like?" he asks, pulling his thick, angry looking erection out of his pants and aiming it towards me as I slip up onto the counter, wiggling as I pull my new dress up over my hips.

"I missed _you_," I grin at him as his beefy fingers dig into the white flesh of my thighs, half pulling me off of the counter as his hips move forward in a smooth, deliberate motion, shoving his cock deep into my pussy. We both groan but most of the sound is lost as his lips cover mine, our tongues meeting and wrapping around one another's. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I let him lift me from the counter so that he can slide me down over his cock while he thrusts it up inside of me.

"Fuck, ma petite fille, you're so fucking wet. Tell me you were thinking about me," he demands, whirling me around and pressing me against a stall door. I gasp, the feeling of him planted so deep inside me steals the breath from my lungs so that all I can do is nod. "Were you thinking about ma graine dans ta plotte?" he asks hoarsely, slamming his rod into me, over and over again, hard enough that it almost hurts and making the door to the stall creak ominously.

"Do you like my new outfit? Do you think it's sexy?" I ask breathlessly, my fingers laced around his neck, using his neck and shoulders as leverage so I can move my hips up and down, feeling the head of his cock pressing near to that spot that will spill me over the edge.

"I think you're sexy, mon chéri," he replies hoarsely, his lips reaching for mine, our tongues meeting in the middle. The ability to speak is lost as I feel the head of his cock press up against that spot and my entire body shudders and I dig my nails into the back of his neck and bite down hard on his shoulder to stop from screaming.

With a grunt Max's body falls against mine as I feel his cock spasm inside of me, shooting jets of cum into me as he mutters in French and digs his fingers into my ass, making me wince as he presses into the bruises he's already marked me with. After a moment we both sort of slide apart and Max leans his head against the stall door, his eyes closed as he recovers while I go to my purse and pull out a pair of panties and begin to slide them carefully over my boots.

"Max?" I glance over my shoulder while I shimmy the black lace up over my knees.

"Mmm?" is his only answer, his eyes still closed though he's stuffing his package back in his pants carefully.

"Am I…I mean…do you think of me as…am I your girlfriend?" I ask quietly, turning to the mirror and reaching for a tissue from the dispenser on the counter to wipe away the smudged lipstick from around my lips. At first only silence greets my bumbled question, but then I feel his arms slide around my waist and his lips press against the nape of my neck.

"Oui ma petite, tu es la meilleure…you're the best girlfriend I've ever had."


	9. Chapter 9

_Afraid that everything remains unchanged  
In this fragile dream, yeah  
Ashamed of the shattered remains  
Of promises made, yeah_

(lyrics from "Sweet Pandemonium" by HiM)

_You trick your lovers  
That you're wicked and divine  
You may be a sinner  
But your innocence is mine_

(lyrics from "Undisclosed Desires" by Muse)

**Chapter 9**

"I like her," Tabby says, grinning in that way that makes me nervous and when I glance over at Sid he's sporting the same wary look on his face. "She's got…spunk," she adds as she carefully lowers one of my godsons in my arms.

"Buuuttt?" I ask, making a face at Toby who gurgles happily and squirms in my arms. I pat myself on the back for getting the little monsters monogrammed sleepers.

"But nothing," Tabby sighs as she drops onto the couch and into the circle of Sid's arm which he immediately drapes around her shoulders, bringing her against his side. "I think you need a girl with some life to her. I think that's why girls don't last with you Max. They don't keep you guessing enough."

"Huh," is the only answer I can come up with and when I look over at Sid, he looks just as surprised as I feel.

"What?" Tabby look from me and then to Sid and then back at me, "if you honestly thought we were all going to disapprove of her, why did you bring her?"

"I didn't, Kris did and I didn't think you were going to disapprove…exactly," I admit, still unable to get that sexy black satin number out of my head. It doesn't seem to matter what Becks wears, she looks great in everything. "I just wasn't sure she'd fit in."

"She seems fine," Sid offers, only to have Tabby poke him in the ribs.

"What does that mean, fine? What about her wouldn't we like? She's funny, opinionated…oh, you mean the sex in the bathroom thing?" Tabby laughs as I feel my ears get warm and the creep of blood up my neck and into my face. It's one thing to have the guys know but the disapproving looks that Mel and Vero gave us when we came back to the table are something else I can't exactly get out of my head. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you Max," Tabs adds, yawning and snuggling tighter to her man.

"So what is it about her that you thought we wouldn't like?" Sid finally asks the question that I still don't know the answer to.

"There's just…I don't know, something about her that…her whole life is like this big mystery," I explain as best I can only to have the two of them look at one another with these smirks on their faces. "What?"

"Well c'mon Max, getting to know someone is part of the whole…process," Sid says, his hand going to Tabby's hair, wrapping her jet black waves around his finger as he looks down at her with that completely gone look on his face that he always seems to have these days.

"And how many times have you complained about girls that do nothing but talk?" Tabby adds as she shuts her eyes and this completely contented look comes across her face. "If you ask me, this girl is smart if she's keeping you guessing."

"Yeah but she doesn't talk about her life…_at all_," I explain, wrinkling my nose as the little bundle of joy in my arms makes a face and promptly fills his diaper. This is the part I like best about just being a godfather; I hold the kid out away from me and Sid rolls his eyes, untangles himself from his mate and walks over to take his son in his arms and disappears to the twin's room and the diaper genie. "Shouldn't I worry about that?" I ask Tabby as she straightens and stifles another yawn. It must be a bitch to have to get up for all the feedings. I'm betting she's looking forward to us getting kicked out of the Playoff run so she can get a little more help around the house. Of course they could afford a nanny, or ten, but she's been pretty adamant about being the only one to bring up their kids.

"Do you ask her? Or is it just pretty much sex between the two of you?" she asks, pushing herself to her feet and going over to the blanket on the floor where Cody has been kicking and reaching for one of those toys that hangs over his little sausage of a body.

"Mostly sex," I admit, my body going warm all over at the thought of Becks naked. "But it _is_ the best sex I've ever had," I add to which Tabby rolls her eyes as she picks her other son up right into the air and sniffs at his but before cuddling him to her chest and going back to her spot on the sofa.

"Well you might like to try having an actual conversation. I mean, if you actually intend to continue this past the point where the sex isn't quite so explosive. I mean, look at Mel and Johnny. That was all just crazy do it everywhere new crazy sex but now they're going to be parents and they're like…well, I guess kinda like me and Sid. Old boring sit around and watch movies kind of a couple," she adds as Sid reappears with a fresher smelling Toby who's wriggling in his arms and making motorboat noises, which tells me it's time for me to make my exit before Tabby whips out her boobs and I get uncomfortable.

"Yeah well, I like the great sex part. I'm not really ready for that to be over and besides," I add, getting to my feet, "I heard Johnny admit once that he's a little worried that after the baby's born that Mel will want to go back to hanging from the chandelier and he won't be able to keep up with her." I watch the two of them share one of those looks that couples get, all that silent conversation thing that I just don't understand.

"So back to the original question, Max," Sid turns to me after putting his other son in Tabby's arms and taking Cody in his own, "are you bringing her when we go? I just need to know for uh…for booking rooms," he lies, giving me one of those looks that tells me that Tabby still hasn't caught on to his little plan.

"Well yeah, if it's okay with you two," I reply, happy to find out that they don't think she's some kind of tramp that they don't want around their little ones.

"It's totally okay Max," Tabby answers with a smirk. "We're just glad we don't have to watch you moping around all by yourself while everyone else has someone, for once," she adds giving me one of those affection laden pity looks of hers'. "Now if we could just find someone for Kris," she adds, like an afterthought and both Sid and I laugh.

"Maybe we could get a hold of Justin Bieber for him," I suggest and Sid shakes his head.

"No, no, one of the Jonas Brothers," he suggests, laughing until he realizes Tabby isn't laughing, at all.

"You guys are such losers," she mutters, sliding her t-shirt up and that's when I turn and head for the door. "Stop teasing him about his hair," she calls after me.

"When he cuts it," I call back and Sid chuckles, but quietly and we share a look and both break out laughing again. "I guess we shouldn't be talking about the season being over yet," Sid adds as he walks me to the door.

"Yeah, well, if they don't put Price the sieve back in, it will be," I mutter and Sid nods, heaving a heavy sigh.

"I hear that, mon ami, I hear that."

* * *

Tugging my robe closed, I slip out onto the front stoop and across the driveway to grab the paper rolled up on Kris's front step. I'm just straightening up and turning to head back to Max's front door when I hear the unmistakable sound of a highly turned German engine behind me.

Fuck! Busted.

Turning slowly, I hold up my hands like I'm being met with a pointed gun, but instead Kris gets out of his expensive Mercedes and laughs.

"You should tell Max that you actually know how to read and maybe he'd get you your own paper," Kris smirks, heading for his front door without another comment, either about my still being in my robe at eleven in the morning or about my taking his paper.

"I was just going to look through the classifieds," I explain, still standing on his doorstep, barefoot, with my hair pulled back in a simple pony tail and not a stitch of make-up on. "Find a job and some cheap place to rent, then I was going to bring it back, I swear." I add with a shrug. Kris pauses, his key half way into the lock.

"Did you and Max have a fight or something?" he asks without looking at me, but he doesn't move either, just stands there with his key half way into the lock, waiting for my answer.

"No, I just…well, you saw my sainted sister the other day," I sigh, thinking how great that day was considering how badly it started out. "So I obviously can't go back to working with her and I realize you guys are all going to disappear soon so, y'know, I feel kinda like it would be weird if I asked if I could stay here," I add, tapping the rolled up newspaper against my thigh. "Anyway, you're home early. Max said he wouldn't be home until after lunch."

"That's because he's getting physio and then he was going over to Sid's," Kris explains, shoving his key in the lock and pushing the door open. "Do you want some coffee?" he asks, turning only enough so that I can see one dark brown eye through his still wet hair.

"I…uh…," I look down at my current lack of clothes and then decide it doesn't matter. After all, it's not like he bats for the team that would care about what's under this old robe of mine anyway. "Sure. Maybe you make better coffee than I do." I follow him into the darkened house that looks almost exactly like Max's, except that it doesn't scream 'bachelor pad' in quite the same way that Max's does. There are warmer coloured accents like throw pillows and other little touches that say that make his place look less like each room was copied entirely from a page in a catalogue.

"So he still hasn't asked you to Sid's wedding?" Kris asks after dropping his gym bag at the top of the stairs as he turns to head into the kitchen.

"No, he hasn't talked about it at all," I reply quietly, slipping into the breakfast nook and unrolling the paper in front of me while he starts opening cupboards and measuring out espresso into an expensive looking shiny unit that looks like it should be in some fancy Italian café and not on the kitchen counter of a single guy that probably hardly drinks the stuff. "Which is fine except…," I flip open the paper and pretend to get engrossed in some story about the Pens in the sports section.

"Except?" I hear him sliding into the leather banquette across the table from me and look up to see his soft milk chocolate brown eyes watching me patiently but there is also a certain amount of concern in his dark gaze.

"Nah…you don't need to listen to my shit," I mutter, feeling my face flush with shame as I start to imagine Kris telling Max how insecure and silly I am.

"Hey," I feel his hand cover mine and look up to see that half smile of his where only one corner of his mouth turns up and so does the eyebrow on the same side. It's cute in a totally GQ model kind of way and I remind myself, again, that there isn't any point to thinking of him like that. "I thought we were friends now."

"Well he _says_ I'm his girlfriend, you know? But…I mean I don't know what that means to him and I don't want to be pushy," I admit, feeling a little embarrassed to actually put voice to the trepidation that's been keeping me from coming right out and asking him what his plans are for the summer. Kris's hand slides away from where it's been covering mine and he sits back with his fingers just on the edge of the table, like he's going to push himself away, but he doesn't, he just sits there and stares at the empty table. "See, I told you that you didn't want to listen to me whining about my problems," I insist, trying to sound cheerful to mask the fact that what I want to do is leave his house at a dead fun and dive under my pillow and stay there for about a year.

"I've told you, he's crazy about you," Kris says finally, in this utterly dead pan voice that is entirely devoid of emotion. "If you want," he adds, finally pushing himself to his feet and turning his back on me, heading for the espresso maker, "I can mention something to him," he adds and then turns on the milk frothing wand as if to end the conversation.

I take the hint and turn the conversation to more casual, upbeat things while he fills two cups, topping them with chocolate drizzle before returning to the table and sliding my mug in front of me. I smile down at the happy face he's drawn in the foam with the drizzle and then look up at him to find him watching me with that bleak, wary look of his.

"I know I should just count myself lucky that he even looks at me." I raise my hand and shake my head before he can object. "No, you don't know where I come from. You guys…you have it all and I should just be happy to have a little of his time. I shouldn't bitch. Don't…just don't tell him I said anything, promise?" Kris's shoulders slump and at first he just shakes his head, making all that dark, still damp hair fall into his eyes but then he sighs and nods.

"I won't, pour l'instant," he says, holding my gaze with his, very serious one. "But if he doesn't say something…if he doesn't ask you about the wedding by the end of the week, _you_ ask him, d'accord?" I want to say no, that it's too much to ask but he raises that eyebrow again and I end up nodding and then he changes the subject to tell me more about Sid's planned surprise wedding.

* * *

'_Why are you torturing yourself, you dickhead'_ I ask myself as I take her empty cup, chocolate filled foam clinging to the inside of the cup and the corners of her full mouth. Even as I tell myself not to do it, my hand reaches out to wipe away the smear of chocolate drizzle at the corner of her mouth and when her gaze locks on mine, I feel my heart squeeze painfully in my chest.

'_Imbécile, lui dire'_ I tell myself, my thumb still pressed to her lip while she gives me that smile that, while it holds appreciation, screams nothing but 'platonic relationship status', which may as well be pity.

"You shouldn't think that you're any different from us," I tell her quietly, "we didn't always have money. This is all new to us too." She nods, but doesn't get a chance to argue or even answer me. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway interrupts the moment and she bounds to her feet and goes tearing around the corner and down the stairs.

I listen to the sound of her hurried, even excited, footsteps and find myself grinding my teeth. He doesn't deserve to have her doe eyes look into his. He doesn't deserve to kiss those full lips, he….

"No, _you_ go!"

Dropping the mugs in the sink, I lean to look out the window to see Becky with her hands on her hips, facing her sister and not looking at all happy. I tell myself I shouldn't eavesdrop, or worse, interfere, but there's no reason that I can't at least back her up, as her friend. Max would, or maybe that's just an excuse I use as I hurry down the stairs and out the front door.

"Oh so you're fucking him too?" her sister says, inclining her head in my direction and making a face like I had better not open my mouth. My mère has a similar expression she uses when she doesn't want to hear my father's opinion.

"Aren't I the lucky girl?" Becky grins spitefully which only causes her sibling to roll her eyes and make one of those noises that strongly suggests both disgust and disdain.

"Whatever, I don't have time to think about your…activities," her sister grumbles. "Just get dressed and get to the hospital."

"And like I said, why don't _you_ go, be the dutiful daughter? She only likes you anyway," Becky adds dismissively.

"You know that's not true and besides I have a job, which you seem to have forgotten about or you think you're too high and mighty to do, considering you're wandering around in…well, in that in the middle of the day," her sister adds, giving Becks' satin robe a withering look. "Plus I have the kids to pick up from school so, if you can find time in your obviously very full schedule to look in on your mom who's in the hospital because you didn't look after her like you're supposed to be doing…," she adds with a quick glance towards me, I'm sure to make sure I've heard. "Do you think you can manage that Rebecca?"

"Yeah, I guess, if you can wait for like ten minutes while I pull on some jeans," Becky sighs resignedly, turning towards Max's front door.

"Get yourself there Rebecca, I have a fucking schedule to keep. I don't have time to wait on you," her sister calls as she climbs back into her minivan and quickly throws the beast into reverse. Becks turns and watches her go, her expression hard to read but I can tell she's trying really hard not to look at me.

"I'll take you," I offer but she shakes her head vehemently. "Becky, I'll take you," I insist, reaching for her, wanting to comfort her even though I can see she's trying to wish me away, probably wishing that I'd never heard any of what just happened. So I wait, my arms open uselessly, until she half turns, a distrustful look in her eye. She reminds me of a dog that's been kicked too many times looking at someone holding a leash out towards her. "Whatever it is Becky, it's not like I'm going to say anything. Family…who'd have them?"

"Promise?" she replies quietly, still looking cautiously at me. "Not even Max…especially not Max?"

"Oui, je vous promets."


	10. Chapter 10

"_I guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all._

_It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now."_

(lyrics from 'I Need You Now' by Lady Antebellum)

_Haven't slept in a week  
My bed has become my coffin  
Cannot breath, cannot speak  
My head's like a bomb, still waiting  
Take my heart and take my soul  
I don't need them anymore_

_This bed has become my chapel of stone  
A garden of darkness to where I'm thrown  
So take my life, I don't need it anymore_

(from 'The One I Love' by the Rasmus)

**Chapter 10**

"I don't have good news I'm afraid."

I watch as Becky's hands curl around the safety rail at the end of her mother's hospital bed, gripping it like she has to or drown, her knuckles turning white. She doesn't even look at the doctor with his crisp white lab coat, his shiny stethoscope and his Ken doll good looks. Her gaze is locked on the woman in the bed and all of the tubes and wires running from her too still form. The only other sound in the room is the whooshing sound coming from the apparatus that's helping her mother to breathe.

I don't know where to be. I feel like I should be right there beside her but on the other hand this feels like a really personal moment and besides, she hasn't so much as reached for my hand….

"It seems as though your mother had a fall in the shower and she sustained some rather serious injuries," the doctor continues, pointing out the cast on her leg, which is obvious, but Becky's gaze doesn't waver from the bandages around her mother's head.

"Was she drunk?" Doctor Ken doll flushes and clears his throat loudly as he taps his pen against the clipboard he's holding, as if she's brought up an awkward subject.

"Now, she's given her head quite a crack," the doctor continues, stating the obvious, glancing up at Becks warily, as if he expects her to interrupt him and she doesn't disappoint.

"Was. She. Drunk?" she asks again, making it clear she expects…no, is _demanding_ an answer. The doctor looks at her and starts gnawing at the end of the pen he's holding. "Well?" Becks turns and levels her gaze at him, "was she?"

"Her blood alcohol level was…," he glances down at his clipboard and then back up at her and squares his shoulders, like maybe this is the worst news he has to give, "high."

"So she _was_ drunk," she repeats, mostly under her breath, returning her attention to the inert form in front of her. The doctor watches her for a minute and then makes a movement towards her only to check himself and turn instead to look at the monitors that are clicking and beeping beside the bed.

"The next forty-eight hours are critical," he says, doing something so the pinging noise of the heart and oxygen monitor isn't quite so deafening. "With brain swelling like this, it usually takes a few days before we know exactly what we're dealing with."

"Is there anything else you can do?" Becky asks, eyeing the monitors with a certain sense of bewilderment that I can see she is trying hard to hide, her back rail straight, her shoulders squared, her chin high.

"Wellll," the doctor taps the pen against the clip board again and I watch as she clenches her jaw and tightens her grip on the rail until I feel sorry for the metal bar. "There are some other tests but…." He eyeballs her like he's trying to decide if he should continue or not. "Your mother's VA benefits don't cover the costs unless you have…?" His voice fades as she tersely shakes her head, dismissing the idea that she has any extra coverage before he can even give voice to the question. "We are monitoring her closely," he adds quickly, as if to placate her, though Becky's expression never changes from the closed, agitated expression she's been wearing ever since her sister showed up in the driveway. "If anything changes drastically, of course we'll do everything we can."

"So you're saying she might die?" she asks, a slight quaver to her voice the only evidence that she's feeling anything at all.

"That is…well, yes, it's a possibility, but I think we need to be positive and…."

"I hope she does die," she says quietly but firmly, finally letting go of the safety rail and reaching forward to briefly and gently touch her fingertips to her mother's toes, "for _her_ sake." That's when I give up wondering what the right thing to do is, when the doctor can't hide the shock on his face and she turns towards where I'm standing in the doorway and stumbles, right into my arms. "Don't ask me if I mean it," she says in a voice strangled by the tears she's trying so hard not to shed.

"I won't," I promise, sliding my arm around her and leading her out of the room.

* * *

"Why aren't you looking at me like I've grown horns?" I stare across the table at Kris who is calmly twirling spaghetti around his fork and looking completely unaffected by having seen the drama at the hospital.

"Because I can see you haven't," he smiles and then slips the heavily laden fork between his lips and grins around it. When I make a face like I don't believe him he just shrugs and drops his fork. "You just want me to give you a lecture so you can give in to the guilt that's stopping you from eating _that_," he adds, pointing at the melting chocolate sundae I ordered instead of food.

"Yeah well you shouldn't have let me order that either," I grumble, dropping the spoon I've been using to try and stop the melting liquid from dripping over the sides of the bowl into the mess of chocolate fudge, melted bananas foster ice cream, and warm caramel sauce. My stomach wants it but he's right, the lead weight in my gut won't let me eat it.

"I'm not one of those guys who tells women what they should or shouldn't eat," Kris begins, with a sly grin as he looks at me through his bangs before he combs his fingers through his dark hair, taming it, for now.

"So you're just going to sit there and not ask me anything?" Reaching across the table I grab his fork and stab a meatball from the top of the mountain of noodles and sauce and pop it in my mouth. "Mmm _fuck_ that's good."

"I won't even tell you not to talk with your mouth full," he adds with a shake of his head, which sends those unruly bangs of his back into his eyes as he tosses a napkin at me.

"So you're seriously trying to tell me you're sitting there _not_ judging me?" I ask, unable to stop myself from smiling back at that playful, sexy little grin of his. Fortunately he manages to wipe the grin off of his face, but not before he leans forward and reaches for my hands. I watch my clammy fingers disappear into his hands and wonder how he can stand touching them. I haven't been able to stop wiping my hands on my jeans since we left the house. They also haven't stopped shaking since we got to the hospital.

"No one's family is perfect Rebecca," he tells me seriously, tilting his head to one side and giving me an encouraging half smile. "Everyone has something or someone they wish they could lock in the attic. Why should you be any different?"

"I wonder if Max will feel the same way about it," I mutter, pulling my hands back from his because it doesn't seem fair for him to be comforting me and not just because I'm an evil ungrateful daughter but because if anyone should be doing it, it should be Max and yet, I'm sort of glad he isn't seeing me like this.

"You shouldn't put him up on some kind of…," Kris mumbles something under his breath as he tries to search for the right word in English, "some kind of pedestal. He's just human. We're all just regular guys," he adds quietly, picking up his fork and pushing a meatball across his plate.

"But he's not," I disagree with a smile as I think about Max's easy grin and the way it feels when I wake up, warm and safe in his arms. "You don't understand," I begin, glancing over at Kris and then suddenly feeling shy and ducking my head away. "He's like…he didn't have to take me in. He's…he's a big deal and I'm _so_ not," I add, rescuing the cherry from the melting mess in front of me and popping it into my mouth, stem and all. I hear the sound of Kris's fork clattering against his plate and look up to see him staring sternly down at his plate, as if it's done something to offend him. "Sorry, I'm gushing aren't I?" He looks up at me slowly and I brace myself for some sort of reality check but then he just shrugs and picks up his fork again and goes back to poking at his food.

"So your dad…he isn't in the picture?" he asks, changing the subject, and I gratefully pounce on the opportunity to stop sounding like a love sick teenager.

"I haven't seen my dad since…," I have to think about it for a moment before I can even answer the question. "I think he walked me to kindergarten and then I got home from school and my grandmother was there and he was gone. I think that was the last time," I explain, reaching over to pick up his glass of red wine and downing the contents.

"Was he in the Army?" he asks, reaching for the bottle and upending it into the glass but he doesn't reach for it, just leaves it in front of me like he knows I need it.

"No…oh, I don't know really, I hardly remember him. Maybe he was," I sigh, picking up the glass and sipping at the smooth, oaky contents. "My mom never really talked about him when she came back from Kuwait."

"Your mom was in Kuwait? You mean…in the war?" he asks, looking surprised or maybe alarmed. His reaction makes me smile but only because it's the same reaction I've seen my entire life. You'd think people wouldn't be as surprised any more that women join the army.

"Yeah, which is why she's got such shit insurance," I sigh, and then, with an ironic smile, raise my glass in salute. "God Bless America."

* * *

"Hey, where have you been all day?" I turn down the volume on the TV as I watch Becks appear at the head of the stairs. She doesn't answer, just drops her purse on the floor and then sheds her jacket as she walks, or rather struts towards me, silent, her expression unreadable. "Is there something wrong ma petit chaton?" She smiles but still doesn't answer and tugs her t-shirt over her head, flinging it aside before she finally ends up sitting astride my lap. I open my mouth to ask what I've done to deserve the strip tease but she shakes her head and presses one finger against my lips while her other hand curls around the back of my neck. "Well if that's the way you want it," I murmur against her finger and her expression goes from almost entirely blank to sexually predatory in a split second.

"It is. No talking, just fucking," she whispers and then covers my mouth with hers' in a long, tongue twining, hot kiss while show slowly yanks open my shirt by ripping out each and every button until she's tugging the last one from beneath my belt. "Bedroom Now," she commands, standing up and holding her hand out to me, which I take and stumble after her, because all the blood in my entire body has flowed into my groin, making it almost impossible to walk.

"What happened with you today?" I ask as she shoves me down onto the bed and crawls onto it after me, over me, straddling my body and running her hands over my chest, looking down at me like I'm a big plate of warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies that she can't wait to devour.

"What did I say? Do you always talk when you should be listening Max?" she whispers, pressing the pad of her finger to my lips again and shaking her head. Smiling up at her, I draw her finger into my mouth and suck it slowly in, swirling my tongue around it until she bites down on her bottom lip and her pupils dilate.

"I've been accused of that," I admit as I let her finger go and reach for the top button on her jeans, taking in the sight of her above me in the black lacey bra with her pale breasts spilling out of it, her hair loose, draping around her shoulders in thick dark waves. "God you're beautiful."

"Fuck Max," she shakes her head and grabs my hands, pressing them back onto the bed, lacing her fingers in mine. "Shut the _fuck_ up."

Obediently I lay there, my arms flat on the bed, watching as she unclips her bra and tosses it behind me and then she lays down on me, pressing her tits against my chest while her mouth works over mine. My hands don't stay still for long though. Grabbing her ass, I press my pelvis up against her, grinding my throbbing erection against her until she moans into my mouth and then the remainder of our clothes just go flying, some intact, some in pieces, until we're both naked and she's riding me, my fingers digging into her thighs, her back bowed, her eyes unfocussed and sweat making her skin glow.

"Yessss! Oh Max, yesss," she cries, her head thrown back as I press my cock up into her, our bodies locked together, my cock buried as deep in her as it can go.

I guess it's too late to explain how I'm not supposed to have sex the night before a big game.

* * *

Draining the dregs of the dark, red wine from my glass I put it down on my bedside table and lean back against the pillows and close my eyes.

'_Niaiseux'_, I scold myself. '_Maudit tata'_ I add as I listen to the sounds she makes as Max fucks her so that she can stop thinking about her mother lying, maybe dying, in that hospital bed. I get it. I understand the drive to procreate when faced with either the threat of or with death itself and I can't or at least shouldn't complain.

I could have divested her of the impression that I'm gay and I didn't. Having her confide in me, trust me, seems more important, or at least that's what I tell myself as I close my eyes and try to imagine it isn't him causing her to make the noises I can hear drifting into my bedroom window on the evening breeze.

Instead, I imagine that it's my hands sweeping over her soft, pale skin, raising goose bumps behind every touch, every caress. I visualize the dark, copper tinged coffee coloured waves of her hair spread out across my pillow and the dark, chocolate pools of her eyes gazing up at me full of desire. I picture my dick slipping into her soft, wet folds; disappearing into her body, feeling her heat squeezing around my cock.

"Je t'aime, mon ange," I whisper as my hand slides down over my stomach to the ties on my pajama bottoms needing the release even as guilt and pain make my stomach twist and clench uncomfortably. But it doesn't do any good anymore to tell myself that she's Max's girl. It's not just because she's sexy and funny anymore. Now that I've seen into her darkness and I've seen a glimpse of her insecurity, now I know it's much more than a crush.

What am I going to do about I don't know…I honestly don't know.


	11. Chapter 11

_Thanks for your patience, this took a while to get out of my head. I hope the drama is worth the wait!_

**Chapter 11**

"You keep looking at her," Tabby replies in answer to my stupefied question or rather stupid attempt at trying to deflect her question which was '_what's going on with you and Becky?_' I'm not the only one who's noticed, by the way. Mel totally has and Vero even asked Flower if you three are…up to something," she adds in that inquisitive sort of way that says she really does and really doesn't want to know the answer to that particular question at the same time.

"He's in love with her," Trina says without even looking up from where she's sliding a bobby pin into Tabby's hair to hold a tiny purple flower into a curl at the side of her head just in front of where the combs that the veil is attached to are nearly hidden in all of her hair. I open my mouth to object but both women look up at my reflection in the mirror with expressions that clearly say '_don't bother, we won't believe you'_. So instead I sink further down in the chair and say nothing.

"Oh Kris," Michelle Cooke reaches over and squeezes my hand and gives me a sympathetic look that just makes me feel worse. I'd come into the house to get away from watching Max and Becky and I'm feeling a lot like I've jumped out of the frying pan and into the fry vat.

"So what are you doing? Biding your time until Max inevitably screws it up and then you're going to sweep in on your white horse and save the day in all your shiny armor and Prince Charming hair?" Tabby asks as she sweeps her thumb beneath her bottom lip, making sure that the glistening lilac coloured lip gloss she's wearing isn't escaping her full mouth. Not like it's not going to be all over Sid's lips in about half an hour but until then she'll continue to look like the most beautiful WAG in the room. I've always recognized that Sid's woman is very pretty but I know that when she's near Becky there's only one woman I have eyes for.

"Who says he'll screw up? Has anyone ever seen him with any girl this long?" I ask, realizing I sound as petulant and miserable as I feel. Having been stuck on a plane with the two of them for hours after having to listen to them have sex every night, and now having to watch her be all excited to be at a wedding like she's getting ready to do some serious damage to anyone who might try to get in the way of her catching the bouquet…it's too much.

"It's Max," Michelle says like there's no more to be said and everyone in the room nods in agreement, as if that's it, the final answer. No need to phone a friend.

"He adores her," I insist, thinking of the way he held her hand on the plane and how they'd had their heads close together, whispering and smiling in that conspiratorial couples kind of a way.

"Yeah but who adores Max more than Max?" Tabby asks, finally sitting back in the chair as Trina takes her hands away and all of us end up staring at her reflection with the same look on all of our faces. She looks like something off of the cover of one of those Bridal magazines, all strawberries and cream complexion, her hair and make-up perfect, the veil falling softly around her bare shoulders. "And don't get me wrong," she adds, breaking the momentary spell we are all under, "that girl, she is damaged goods, believe me." There must be something she sees in my face because her eyes go all soft, like they do when she looks at her sons and then she turns to look right at me. "I'm not saying I don't like the girl, I do, but next to Sidney you're just about the sweetest man in the entire world Kris and a girl like that…," her voice trails away as she shakes her head and looks up at her friend who rolls her dark eyes and flips her long, ebony hair over her shoulder.

"What Tabby is trying not to say because it's her fucking wedding day and she's trying to be all butterflies and kittens, is that girl is fucked up. We're not saying it's her fault and we're not saying that we hate her because of it, we're just saying she's fucked and you're not and you deserve some vanilla cream puff cotton candy piece of ass not some twisted black licorice crazy ass bitch." Know I know why Jordan loves Trina as the entire room goes silent for one long, emotionally charged moment before everyone breaks up and we're all laughing so hard we're crying and then all hell breaks loose because Tabby's make up is getting ruined and then it's all hands on deck which allows me to disappear, unnoticed, into the big empty Victorian house.

* * *

"I love weddings," I sigh as I drain the last drops from the bottle of ice cold beer in my hand before setting it aside and reaching for another one from the cooler between me and Jordan.

"I just thought you liked bagging the bridesmaids," Jordan hisses with a cautious glance towards the windows above us, behind one of which the bride and her entourage are getting ready while Sid paces nervously back and forth on the deck as if there's an actual chance Tabby won't come down the stairs.

"Are you kidding? Have you seen my date?" I ask with an appreciative glance over my shoulder to where Becks is helping to entertain the twins. We all watch while she raises one of Sid's boys over her head and spins the giggling tot around, making the skirt of her red dress rise to give us all a glimpse of her milky white thighs.

"That isn't the dress I picked out," Kris mumbles and I can't help but laugh.

"Of course it isn't. She looked like a fucking nun in that. Now that…," I gaze appreciatively down at the ample amount of cleavage on display, "that is a fucking dress."

"Tu es un porc malade." I turn to where Tanger's leaning against the railing holding an unopened beer in his hand like he's afraid it might be a live grenade and shake my head.

"Fuck, jealous much?" Jordan laughs, poking at Kris with one of his crutches before I can even open my mouth to say something similar.

"I'm not…," he begins and then just shakes his head, sending his dark hair over his eyes as he heads for the sliding door to the kitchen.

"Yeah, that's why you're all alone, again, licheux d'anus," I add, fully intending to just bust his balls, but the next thing I know I'm hearing the sound of shattering glass next to my head and I look over to see beer suds sliding down the glass between the railing and the deck. "Hey, you almost got me with that, esti d'tapette de calisse!" And then it's on and Kris is flying at me like some kind of crazed half wolf half boy, snarling and spitting and it's only Crosby's quick reflexes that allows him to snag Tanger before he gets to me, while Flower and Jordan each grab one of my arms and hold me back. "Tue s juste un salope," I grin at him while he struggles against the Creature's death grip.

"Vas te faire foutre," he snaps back at me and then wrenches free and turns on his heel and heads into the house, slamming the sliding door shut behind him so hard that we all stand there, watching it, fully expecting it to explode into a million pieces of safety glass that's going to be a bitch to clean up.

"What was _that_ all about?" Crosby finally asks, brushing out the wrinkles in his tux that his struggle with our moody d-man has caused.

"He's fucking crazy," I reply, finally getting a beer and sliding back into the deck chair I'd just vacated. "That's what that was.'

"Bullshit," Jordan barks, shaking his head and laughing. "You two have never had a fucking fight in…_ever_. What the fuck _was_ that? You're not really …y'know, fags are you? You're not having like…some kind of…lover's spat thing are you?" he asks, like it's an actual fucking possibility.

"Fuck off!" I laugh, glancing back at Becky who is now looking up at us with concern written all over her face. "I am tapping _that_ full time and nothing and no one else, merci beaucoup," I reply, opening my beer and immediately draining half of it. "And yeah, I actually like her too," I add before Jordan can give voice any other crazy idea that's running around in that blonde brain of his.

"Maybe we should all lay off the…you know, calling him names," Flower suggests quietly, his gaze still on the door which is still vibrating menacingly like it might still implode.

"Sure, when he stops acting like a little bitch," I laugh and then Jordan laughs, but like he's relieved, but Sid and Flower don't laugh at all.

* * *

"What the fuck was that about?" I don't look up. I don't need to. I know her voice. I know it like it's my own by now.

"Nothing," I mutter, intending to walk by her and down to the lake to be alone and for a minute I think she's actually going to let me get away with it too.

"I thought we were friends," she says quietly and that makes me pause and turn to where she's standing with one of Sid and Tabby's twins in her arms, looking like some kind of Italian painting of Mary and the Christ child. I can feel the small hairs on the back of my neck standing up as I wonder what it would be like if that was my child…_our_ child. Giving my head a shake I look up into her eyes and shrug my shoulders.

"It's nothing for you to worry about," I begin and then, before she can argue, which I can clearly see she intends to do as she purses her lips, I add, "why aren't you upstairs with the rest of the girls?"

"No one knows me well enough for me to be a bridesmaid," she replies with a furtive glance towards the house. "And all you boys are having your man cave time," she adds sarcastically with a playful smile, "so I'm out here doing the only thing I'm good for apparently." I watch as she lifts the tiny t-shirt and leans down to blow across his stomach, causing him to squirm, kick and make happy motor boat sounds that makes Becky laugh. "And now Kris won't even tell me what's going on with him, will he? No he won't," she says, using that tone that's only used to talk to babies, all breathy and full of the kind of smiles that only an innocent little bundle like she's holding can invoke.

"I don't like weddings, okay?" I sigh, trying to keep my voice low and not draw any attention from the guys on the deck above us. "Happy?"

"What's not to like?" She actually manages to look at me like I must be some kind of freak and I know I'm not going to get away with that particular excuse. "Free booze, pretty girls, pretty boys," she adds with a meaningful glance towards where Gronk's two ginger haired brothers are hanging out with their suit pants rolled up and their feet in the water.

'_Tell her'_ I tell myself. She's opened the door and the subject is lying right there like a big pink elephant, this is the perfect time to put her straight about my being…well straight, but I can't do it. It's not her fault that she thinks I'm gay. She'd be embarrassed and maybe even a little ashamed and I don't want to be the one who makes her feel like that. Later, maybe, I'll make Max tell her….Or maybe it's just better this way. Maybe it's better if she keeps thinking I'm gay and then I have at least one reason not to tell her how I really feel.

"Oh…oh my god, I'm so sorry." I look up to see her only a pace away from me, looking stricken, as if something horrible has just occurred to her. "Of course, I should have…I'm such a loser," she mumbles, reaching to put on hand briefly on my arm before withdrawing it, but not before I feel the effect of her touch, like a jolt of electricity running wild through my veins.

_Calisse de tabernack_! She still thinks it's because I'm fucking gay!

Okay, so…so I go along with it.

"I'm just…I'm jealous, okay?" I grumble, sticking my hands in the pockets of my jacket and stare at my shoes, knowing I'm not that good a liar and that if she looks at my face, she'll see right through me even though it's as close to the truth as I dare come. "Of Tabby and Sid, you and Max, Trin and Jordy…."

"Aww, Kristopher." I tense as her finger close around my wrist and I keep my eyes glued on the ground. I hate this. Hate it. "I am so sorry. It must be awful for you to have to…," she stops and I know she's waiting for me to look up at her, but I won't. I can't. If I do, I'll tell her. I'll tell her who I'm really jealous of and exactly what I'd do about it if I had some balls. "I'm sorry," she says finally and lets me go and I walk away as quickly as I can, feeling her pity trailing behind me like a foul stench.

* * *

"Don't you _ever _get tired?" Max hollers into my ear, and I, laughing, shake my head.

"You should know the answer to that," I reply, raising my eyebrow as he shakes his head and laughs, sweat pouring down his face as if he's going into overtime and not just dancing the night away on the deck of a big old Victorian house on the shore of a lake by the light of what seems like a million fairy lights and a few hundred old fashioned tacky plastic patio lanterns. It's hard to believe the deck can actually hold the weight of all the wedding guests and harder to believe that the cops haven't shown up to shut the whole thing down considering how loud Great Big Sea is playing and how their energetic Celtic music is causing everyone to stomp and yell. Still, I guess it's one of those benefits of being a Canadian treasure….

"I have to get a drink," Max mouths as I's the B'y comes to a close and we collapse into each other's arms, spent from reeling in what seems like endless circles.

"_You_ don't need any more to drink," I insist, even as he tugs me towards the very well stocked free bar from which both wine and the truly hard stuff has been flowing all night and Max has been making several trips back to it.

"Trust me," he growls, pressing his forehead to mine so that his sweat mixes with my own," I need a damn drink." Rolling my eyes I allow myself to be dragged behind him all the way to the bar where one wave of his hand lines up three shots of the local screech which he downs quickly one after the hour in succession, holding the last shot glass towards me, knowing full well I won't take it before he downs it and slams it back on the bar. "Un autre!"

"Max!" I snap, trying to tug him away from the bar, but he only laughs and makes himself immobile, holding onto the bar and downing another shot before he allows himself to be dragged back to the dance floor, right next to where Trina is grinding against a mostly inert Jordan whose dancing is mostly made up of shaking his crutches around and grinning like an idiot.

Max grabs my hips and pulls me back against him, his lips brushing the spot behind my ear that makes me shiver despite the summer heat, even in the late hours of the night and the close press of literally a hundred bodies. As if I wasn't hot enough already, even in a barely there little red dress with spaghetti straps and slits up to there, the feel of solid chest pressed against my back, I can feel my temperature ramp up even higher.

"I want you," he hisses in my ear, his hands sliding up my rib cage until he's cupping my breasts.

"Sid and Tabby are still dancing," I point out the pair near the front of the stage, dancing close and slow despite the fast pace of 'Run Runaway' and the fact that almost everyone around them is swinging their partners or jigging in place. "We can't take off for the hotel until they leave for their honeymoon, that would just be rude" I add, arching my neck to offer my lips to him. One of his hands slides up over my breasts as his lips press down over mine and I feel his thumb rotate in tiny circles over my nipple until it rises and hardens for him.

"Let's just go down by the lake, s'il vous plaît bébé," he purrs, nipping at my earlobe hard enough that it sends a shiver of painful pleasure all the way down to my toes. "No one will miss us pour un peu de tout," he promises, pressing what is obviously the increasingly painful reason for his eagerness to escape. "C'mon Becks, don't you want to be with the best man?" he adds with that grin that is unmistakably Max. It's also very hard to say no to, especially with him looking edibly handsome in what's left of his tux, namely what had started the day as a crisp white shirt, his bow tie hanging loose around his neck and a pair of snug fitting black pants.

"Not until she throws the bouquet," I insist, but my body betrays me as his other hand slides up over my breast and up to the top of my dress and then down beneath it until his warm fingers are stroking my nipple to life like he's strumming a guitar. I open my mouth to protest but all that comes out is a pathetic mewling sound.

"Please ma biche," he purrs into my ear and I'm about to give in, scanning the crowd for the quickest exit route and instead find my gaze locked with a pair of teddy bear brown eyes.

"I don't think we should leave Kris here." I wriggle out of Max's grasp and turn around to face him. "You're teammates, neighbors. We're his friends. Look how miserable he is." I let my bottom lip jut out and I give Max my very best puppy dog eyes, blinking them like I'm threatening to cry. "Please Max?"

"And do what with him, ma petite colombe? What would you like him to do, watch? Do you think that would make him feel better?" He laughs uproariously at his own joke, but as soon as he says it, I can't help but wonder if Max might just be drunk enough to do…well just about anything.

"And if I said yes?" I whisper against his lips, feeling the scrape of his whiskers on my cheek, tasting the burn of screech on his tongue as he kisses me, his fingers digging into my shoulders. "Would you do that, for me?"

* * *

I'd have thought they were making fun of me, that someone was going to jump out of the bushes and yell 'you're on candid camera' if it hadn't been for the look in Rebecca's eyes. There was still pity, sure, but there was something else too, something that made me swallow the angry and immediately dismissive reply that sprang to my lips when she asked me to leave with them. It wasn't just the look in her eyes either. It was also the confused and more than a little unfocussed look on Max's face that told me that this was definitely not his idea.

I still have expected to be left at the door of my own hotel room, but instead Rebecca towed me behind her like a child pulling a little red wagon and I felt like I was powerless to do anything but trip along behind her as we both watched Max fight with the pass card as he swiped it over and over again, getting more and more frustrated by the moment.

"This is not a good idea," I whisper, though I can barely hear the sound of my own voice past the sound of my blood pulsing through my veins like I'm about to have a damn heart attack.

"He's drunk," she says quietly, like that makes everything okay.

"And when he's _not_ drunk later or in the morning?" I hiss at her, trying to pull her back from following him into the darkened room.

"Then you and I will have an amazing night to remember," she replies softly, turning to me and reaching up to brush her fingertips along my jaw, "and he won't remember a thing."

"What did you do? Slip him something in his drink?" I growl at her, yarding her backwards, away from the door.

"_No_," she snaps back, looking appalled that I would even suggest it. "We're just…taking advantage of a situation," she explains like whatever she has planned, if she has actually planned anything, is completely innocent, which it can't be. Or maybe that's just all of the x-rated visions that have been playing in my head since she started to drag me away from the reception.

'No. No, I can't do this." I want to do this. Shit I _soo_ want to do this but he'll kill me when he sobers up. He'll fucking kill me.

"Don't you want to be with him?" she asks quietly and that's when I know that I can't do this. I want to do this but I can't do this.

"No," I whisper, aching to tell her that it's her that I want but when she gives me that sympathetic smile, like she thinks that I'm lying, I can't…I just can't.

Still I follow her into the room, letting her lead me like a puppy on a leash, telling myself the whole way that as soon as she lets go of my hand I'm going to turn and leave and then, as I watch Max offering pulling her down onto the bed, as I watch her kneel over him while he runs his hands up her legs, I find myself rooted to the spot, unable to move, and then I tell myself that all I'm going to do is watch.

I stumble, like a drunk, to that uncomfortable chair you find in all the rooms of budget hotels, which is the only kind they have in the small town Sid lives in, and sink down into it, my eyes glued on Rebecca as she straddles Max, his hands on her ass as they share a kiss, long and deep. I watch her hair fall around him like a chocolate waterfall, her shoulders looking even more pale and smooth in the almost pitch black of the room and the next thing I know, I'm there, sitting on the bed, tugging down the zipper on the back of her dress, my hand shaking where it brushes against her cool skin. Next, my mouth follows where my hand has touched and I feel her shiver as I press my lips to her shoulder blades as I slide my fingers beneath the spaghetti straps of her dress and slide them slowly and gently over her shoulder.

"Elle goûts etonnants, non?" Max grins up at me as his hands sweep beneath the cups of her bra, scooping her breasts free. All I can do is nod, feeling suddenly intoxicated by the sweet taste of her skin, the fresh scent of her hair, the very nearness of the promise of all of my darkest desires coming true. "Tu devres goûter sa chatte, il a un goût encore meilleur."

Laying her head back on my shoulder, Becky offers me her neck and I hungrily bite down on it, my gaze still fastened on Max's hands and fingers as he twists and pulls at her blush pink nipples, making her eyes flutter shut so that her eyelashes rest softly on her cheeks like butterflies. She sighs and I feel her hand stroking through my hair and just that, that soft, tender touch alone makes me hard and I press against the back of her thigh and she presses back, grinding her ass against me until I'm moaning into her neck.

Her hand leads mine to her breast and I pull back, expecting to find his hand still there but then she lets out a gasp and I look down to find his hands busy elsewhere and I end up watching him slide up into her, as if it's a car crash at the side of the road and even though I don't want to look, I can't help myself.

She leans back against me and offers me her mouth. I kiss her, softly at first, hesitantly, wanting to enjoy our first kiss despite the fact that I can feel her body lifting off of the bed as he pushes up into her, reminding me that we are not alone. I feel her heart hammering under my hand as I gently squeeze her breast and I don't know if it's that or the way Max pulls her down over him that makes her cry out, her lips breaking away from mine, but the sound…that sound reminds me of all the nights I've spent alone in my bed listening to them make love and I pull away, the spell broken, but only for a moment.

Her fingers dig, almost painfully, into my ass and she pulls me against her and pushes back against me at the same time, grinding against my now very painful erection as her other hand pulls mine around her waist.

"Stay," she hisses, her dark hair brushing against my face, filling my nose with the mingled scents of strawberries and mangos.

I want to ask her if she knows. If this is her way of saying that she knows. I want to pull her away from him and put her down on the bed and take her in front of him. I want to take her somewhere we can be alone.

But I don't do any of those things. Instead, I bend her forward, pressing her down gently over him with one hand on her shoulder while my other hand fumbles with my belt and the zipper on my pants and then I enter her in the only place available to me.

* * *

I wake, aching in every single nerve and sinew in my body but with a contented, even happy smile on my face. At first, I just lay there feeling boneless and cozy with the blanket pulled up to my chin and a warm, solid body pressed against my back. Nestling further under the blankets, I pull the arm that's lying across my hip further up until his hand is tucked up under my chin. Looking down, I trace what are the by now familiar lines of Max's tattoo with my gaze and wonder, with a sly smile, how his head is feeling this morning.

As if to answer my unspoken question, Max groans and presses his cheek against the back of my head.

"Why don't they have black out curtains in this flea bitten motel?" he grumbles and pulls me tighter against him so I can feel his morning wood rise against the small of my back. Grinning, I pull his hand up to my mouth and slowly suck his thumb in between my lips, wrapping my tongue around its tip until he moans into my neck. "What is with you in the morning woman? Haven't you had enough?"

Shaking my head I reach across the bed with my free hand, but find only plump pillows and flat, cool sheets. Opening my eyes, I search the room but find no dark haired Prince watching me. I listen for the sounds of water running, but the only sound I hear is Max's deep, even breaths.

"Where's Kris?" I ask, rolling over and searching Max's face, only to find him looking back at me, obviously confused.

"Sainte-bénite, you mean I wasn't dreaming?" he grins, like he's in utter disbelief. "We really did…_that_?" He adds in a whisper like it's something bad.

"Yeah," I sigh, rolling back over so that he won't see the disappointment in my face. "Yeah, we really did."

"Ha! Wait 'til I tell Jordo. He's gonna freak!"

"Yeah, yeah I bet," I mumble, thinking about someone else that's probably alone, probably freaking out right now and how much I wish he wasn't.


	12. Chapter 12

_And I miss you like hell  
And I'm feeling blue...  
I've got feelings for you  
Do you still feel the same?  
From the first time I laid my eyes on you,  
I felt joy of living  
I saw heaven in your eyes...  
In your eyes..._

(lyrics from "I Wish You Were Here" by Blackmore's Night)

Chapter 12

"I'm starting to get a complex," Becky mutters, mostly under her breath as the waiter walks away, having poured our wine and taken our orders. Well, having taken the orders from me, because he's doing what a lot of Montrealers will do. Namely, pretending they don't understand English and worse, turning their noses up at any attempt an English speaking tourist makes at speaking French, or what is truly spoken in Montreal, Quebecois.

"You're doing just fine," I insist, reaching over to take her hand and as I raise it to my lips she turns a delightfully cute shade of pink.

"It's so weird. It's like a whole other country," she adds, pulling her hand back and picking up her wine glass instead. It's been like this ever since Sid's nuptials. She's been a little distant, a little unsure of me. I thought maybe it was just my bringing her to Montreal but I'm beginning to think that it's more than that.

"We like to think so," I reply, raising my own glass and swirling the chilled peach coloured contents, allowing the fruity aroma to rise and spread across my pallet.

"I don't just mean Canada," she begins, looking alarmed that I might think so and I do my best not to laugh at the childlike expression on her face.

"I knew what you meant, ma colombe. We Montrealers like to think of our city as a little piece of Europe," I add, gazing out at the city lights before turning my attention back to her. "Are you glad you came?" Her gaze settles on the piece of pain beurré on the plate in front of her and I can't help but think that I've hit on the problem. "Or are you homesick mon chaton?" Becky pokes at the bread and shrugs.

"No, that's not it. It's nice here. I guess I'm just feeling guilty," she mumbles, looking sullen and fragile. Reaching for her hand I take it in both of mine and resist when she tries to pull it back.

"Your mom, right?" She nods and then shrugs, giving me the same mixed signals she always has that make her confusing and infuriating but challenging and brings out that protective side in me at the same time. "I thought you hated her?"

"She's still my mom," she answers quietly, her hand finally relaxing in mine.

"So does that mean that you're wanting to go home?" I ask, giving her hand a squeeze when she looks down at her lap. "Becka?"

"I like being here with you," she insists in a tiny voice that's barely above a whisper, her voice catching in her throat as a tear escapes and rolls, liquid silver, down her cheek.

"And you don't really want to go back. You just feel like you should," I add for her and she nods, brushing that tear away with the back of her other hand. "Your sister would phone if you anything had happened right?" She nods, her gaze still riveted to her lap. "And what would you be able to do for her if you were there? Sit by her bed and do what?"

"I don't know Max," she sighs, sounding exasperated. "What would you do if it was your mom?" As she slowly lifts her eyes to meet mine I see a spark there that I haven't seen in a while, a challenge instead of the quiet and nearly childlike girl that I brought home to meet my mother.

"Well my mom never beat me, or called me names, so I'd probably sit there all day holding her hand but only because she's the best mom in the whole world," I add, earning one of her hallmark sarcastic half smiles that ends in an equally sarcastic eye roll. "If you want to go back, I'll go with you," I offer but she shakes her head in a determined sort of way.

"No," she says, squaring her shoulders and, with a certain amount of obvious determination, she sits up straight and reaches for her glass. "I'm glad you brought me here and you're totally right, Jen will call if something happens so I may as well stop being such a pouty little baby and enjoy myself," she adds, tilting her glass towards me. Lifting my own I tap my glass against hers.

"That's my girl." Our glasses make that sound that only good crystal can make and both of us take a long sip and then her eyes flutter shut and a satisfied smile tugs at the corners of her full lips, making her mouth look so inviting that I end up leaning across the table to capture her mouth with mine in a long, soft kiss.

"Mmmm." As I sit back down she looks over at me with a sleepy, contended smile. "I think I really like it here."

"Good," I grin back at her, catching the envious looks the other patrons in the restaurant are sending our way, "because I like having you in my city and I like how you make my brothers all fucking jealous."

"And here I thought you were going to say you liked how much your mother loves me," she grins back at me and I nod.

"Oh is that what you think? You think she likes her little boy being tied down by some girl who isn't from around here?" I watch her blush again and that innocent girl is back, pushing the hard, artificial Becky back for a single, shining moment.

"Is that what I'm doing?" she asks in that small, self conscious voice as her cheeks flare crimson.

"Wrapped," I grin back at her, holding my pinky up and wiggling it. "You've got me totally whipped Becks and I never thought I'd say this but I think I kinda like it."

* * *

I wake in the middle of the night to find Max standing near the window, leaning against the wall staring out at the full, silvery disk of the moon. His compact, sculpted body that reminds me so much of pictures I've seen of Mars, the Roman God of War, is painted a white blue like he could be one of those strange creatures from Avatar.

"Something wrong?" I ask, rubbing my eyes and pushing myself up onto my elbow which makes the sheet fall away, slipping to my waist. He looks over and down at me and a sly smile spreads across his full lips as his gaze slides from my mouth and down to my chest.

"Maybe." His fingers tap on the sill and then he pushes off from the wall and stalks towards me, slowly, until he finally sits on the edge of the bed. I watch his hand reach out towards me, feel his fingertips brush my cheek gently, watch his gaze become unfocussed.

"Maybe? What does that mean?" I ask, curling my fingers around his wrist and slowly pulling his hand down and him with it until he's lying beside me on the bed, still bathed in silvery blue light.

"It means that I was thinking and I'm not sure I liked the conclusion I came to," he adds, his hand sweeping slowly down into the valley of my waist and then up over my hip where it pauses before he strokes his hand back up to my ribs, making me shudder.

"Are you worried about being traded?" I ask, my chest suddenly getting tight, making it hard to breathe at the thought of returning to Pittsburgh without him.

"No," he smirks and then his hand is back on my cheek and an indulgent smile makes my blood heat. "What I'm worried about is all the women who aren't going to ever get a piece of this," he adds with a chuckle, giving me a playful wink.

"Oh?" His hand travels down my jaw and then down over my collarbone until the back of his hand slides down the slope of my breast. I watch the progress of his hand, watch the pad of his thumb slowly circle around my nipple until it hardens, almost painfully and then he slides down and takes my nipple in his mouth, his tongue working around it until his teeth clamp down on it and give it a firm tug.

"Yeah," he whispers as he kisses his way up to my neck again, his tongue sliding slowly up my neck until his teeth take over, digging into my earlobe. "Because _you_ taste like candy," he adds, his voice thickening, becoming hoarse as he pulls my body against his, making it very obvious that his voice isn't the only thing thickening. "And your pussy is like crack," he adds, kissing the corner of my jaw, my eyelid and then my mouth. "I want you all the time," he continues as his body moves over mine, pinning me to the mattress beneath him. "I want to be _in_ you all the time." I gasp as he fills me, my hips rising to meet his, wanting him deeper. "It scares me how much I want you Becky."

There's something I'm supposed to say now, something that matches the heat, the need in his eyes but even as the words form in my mind I know that I won't say them. Not because I don't feel safe and wanted and cared for and not because the thought of having him pluck me out of the trailer park and turn me into a princess doesn't make me feel all of the things that should make saying those words right.

I won't because of the look in Kris's eyes long after Max had passed out next to us in that King size bed back in Cole Harbour, after he'd been snoring softly for a while and we'd just been lying there, looking at one another, both of us wondering what had just happened. My realizing that at the very least I'd been wrong and at the most I'd been lied to.

It had become very clear to me when he and Max had traded places and it was his dark eyes I was looking down into and where I'd expected to see…what? Fear? Insecurity? Whatever it was I'd expected, that wasn't what I saw then and it wasn't what I saw later after Max had passed into the Land of Nod and was occupied with counting sheep. What I'd seen then was a sort of tenderness and a vast need that had matched the emptiness I've always felt.

Then, when we'd made love, slowly and quietly, I'd felt something I've never experienced in my entire life. I'd felt…loved.

Not like now. Not the sort of possessive, you are mine sort of feeling I can see in Max's eyes as he presses my thighs further apart so he can watch himself sliding in and out of me, his cock gleaming with my juices as he pulls it almost entirely free before dipping it back in, taking deliberately shallow strokes to prolong the moment, to tease me and make me beg which I will because I like it best when he isn't so controlled, when he lets loose, when he just fucks me.

But I also don't want it to last, not tonight, not when I know that we'll see Kris in the morning for the first time since…since that night. I don't want it Max to be tender and make me think of the way that Kris held me close and kisses me while we made love. I don't want to think about the raw yearning I saw in his eyes or the way my heart felt like it was going to burst inside of my chest when he brought me shuddering and weeping over the edge, when I clung to him and whispered words I never thought I'd ever say.

Whimpering, I raise my hips off of the bed and dig my nails into Max's ribs and he squeezes his eyes shut and groans.

"Harder baby," I whisper, dragging my nails down his ribs until I can dig them into his, pulling him into me as I lock my ankles around his thighs. "Fuck me baby."

"Christ de plote sale," he hisses as he presses my thighs further apart until it actually hurts and begins to ram his dick into me like an air hammer, his body slapping against mine hard and fast. "As tu ça comme ça?" he growls, his cock bottoming out deep inside of me, making me gasp out loud, the air literally pushed out of my lungs. "Tu aimes ça quand je tu remplisses? Oui,ma petite putain? You like it rough?"

"Oh yes!" I cry, feeling the tightening in my stomach, the fluttering in my belly while white stars begin to dance around my head. "Yessss harder." Pulling my legs up over his shoulders, Max obliges me, ramming his cock home again and again until, screaming as my back bows for him, I tumble over the edge and an orgasm rips through me like hot shrapnel. I barely feel it as his balls empty into me, his cock pulsing as his head tilts back and he lets go a wild sounding cry, his hands clenching painfully around my ankles. I take the pain, enjoy it, loose myself in it because it sweeps away the memories that are haunting me and steals my ability to speak aloud the name that is on the tip of my tongue.

* * *

"What do you mean _not _coming?" I look around Flower to see if Tanger's hiding out somewhere, assuming this is their version of Punked. "We always do this golf tournament."

"He said he isn't feeling well," MAF replies with a shrug and I can tell because I've known him for years that our quiet goalie isn't lying, or at least he isn't doing it on purpose. Kris on the other hand….

"Pussy," I mutter, reaching for my phone and hitting the speed dial for his number. "Ever since we…," I swallow the rest of my comment, knowing that not only would Flower not appreciate my sharing that kind of information but that Becky has been fidgeting like crazy all the way here which tells me that Kris isn't the only one who is experiencing misgivings about that night, which is too bad. Not that I remember most of it, but what I do was pretty hot.

"He might really not be feeling well," Marc says, giving me that look that says 'not everything is about you'. "Dupers said he's been hitting the clubs pretty hard."

"Tanger?" I can't help but feel shocked by that news. "Our Tanger? Clubbing it up? The same Tanger we practically have to drag out back in the 'Burgh?" Shaking my head I try and imagine the quiet, hide behind his hair guy that never goes up to girls and never, _ever_ dances when we go out in a group. "Calisse de tabernack, maybe our little boy is growing up eh?"

"I heard the fucker was even doing a little runway work." Turning around I watch Alex Burrows, Burr, mince and sway like some kind of flamer, like that guy on Next Top Model and it makes us all laugh.

"Actually, he was good," Marc shrugs and that makes me roll my eyes.

"You went? Tapette," I laugh and as usual, Fleur doesn't so much as twitch when I cast aspersions on his sexuality.

"Vero wanted to go. There were lots of hot girls there. You should have gone," he adds with simple shrug of one shoulder.

"Go where?" I feel Becky's arm slide around my waist and her lips softly press to my cheek.

"Flower was just saying how Kris was strutting his man meat at some fashion show. I assume it was for Kasual?" I add, glancing at Marc who has suddenly become preoccupied with shining up one of his drivers but he does nod, even without looking up.

"He was?" she says quietly, and her sunny grin fades a little at the edges. "Oh…oh too bad we missed it. You should have called. We would have come, wouldn't we?"

"Go? I should have been in the damn thing. I mean, if they wanted someone for the catwalk, who's better than me, n'est ce pas?" I give Becky a meaningful look, expecting her to laugh or at the very least to smile, but just as she has for the last few days, the only look on her face is one of being entirely lost in thought, somewhere a million miles from here. "Becks?" I grab her arm, probably harder than I should, but her dark eyes finally focus on me.

"Is he here?" she asks and something twists painfully in my gut.

"No, babe. No, he's not. But I am," I add, giving her arm a squeeze and she smiles, like she wasn't just thinking about him and suddenly things start making a whole lot of sense to me.

"Of course you are," she grins, and then turns her sunshine bright smile on Burr and Flower. "So, who's playing with us?"


	13. Chapter 13

_Summer moved on  
And the way it goes  
You can't tag along_

_Moments will pass  
In the morning light  
I found out_

_Seasons can't last  
And there's one thing  
Left to ask_

_Stay, don't just walk away  
And leave me another day  
A day just like today  
With nobody else around_

(From "Summer Moved On" by a-ha)

**Chapter 13**

It was my turn to be up in the middle of the night, pacing his Montreal apartment in the dark, trying to decide what, if anything was the right thing to do.

We'd just been for dinner with a giant of a man, Georges Laraque who, though just his size had been intimidating, turned out to be a giant teddy bear. He'd spent the entire night talking about his home town and everything that was going on there and then Max had asked me to go with them on a mission of mercy to Haiti, just like that.

Part of me had wanted to say yes, because the idea of being without him made my stomach hurt and because big Georges had made it sound like it would change my world to go.

It was the reply I didn't give, the one I heard in my head and couldn't believe I almost said that made up my mind. '_I just escaped the trailer park. I don't want to go back to poverty ever again'_. The words had nearly escaped from lips and probably would have had I not been saved by a hovering waiter that Max was sure was leering at me. I didn't think so. I was pretty sure he could see what I am through the black halter dress and the diamond tennis bracelet.

I'm a fraud.

I don't belong in this world and that waiter had seen it, probably even when I had declined the menu, unwilling to even try to decipher its' contents. If it hadn't been then it had probably been the look on my face when Max told me what foi gras was.

I like the nice cars and the good wine and all of Max's other toys but I like them too much and I like him, but not enough. I'm doing exactly what my mother had told me to do. I've been clinging to him like a life raft, sure that if I let go I'll get sucked back to the trailer park and my second hand life.

I have to let go. I have to learn to tread water and not just so that I can hold my own head up, but so that one day, maybe, I can be the kind of woman that I feel like when Kristopher looks at me.

* * *

"Jesus fucking Christ Tanger! Sensitive little ears here!" Sidney shushes me, clapping his hands over Cody's ears and actually looking shocked, which, I don't know why, but it surprises me that he is.

"Oh please," Tabby bounces Toby on her knee, holding his arms out and grinning down at him. "Our sons are going to grow up around a hockey rink full of hockey players who have potty mouths. Not to mention an Aunt whose mouth is almost as rank as her father's," she adds with a raised eyebrow as she sneaks a glance at Sid's little sister who is folding baby clothes, warm and fragrant and fresh out of the dryer so quietly that I'd actually forgotten she was there. I feel my entire face get hot and let my hair fall in front of my eyes when she looks up and grins.

"Do you want our kids talking about a ménage a trois on their first day of school?" Sid hisses, under his breath, as if Cody isn't engrossed in everything he says no matter how loud or how soft he says it.

"Oh hell, I am so expecting a call on their first day of kindergarten from some frantic teacher telling me that Toby's pile driving some kid in the head and calling him a stupid inbred mother fucker," she says in that high pitched cooing sort of voice that you only use for little kids and dogs. I look over at Sid whose staring daggers at his wife, but either she doesn't notice or that particular look no longer works on her because she just continues to make faces at Toby and ignores him.

"So what am I going to do?" I ask, looking between the two of them and trying to forget that Sid's sister is staring at me with that 'I know what you did' expression on her face. Whatever she thinks about it, it can't be as bad as the way I'm already judging myself for it and I haven't even told anyone about the actual detail of the physical interaction because I can't say it without stuttering.

"I told you there's something off about that girl," Tabby says in a matter of fact sort of way and I hate that I feel sort of relieved that it's Rebecca being judged badly and not me, for now anyway.

"But you told Max you liked her," Sid interjects and Taylor snorts and then quickly hides her laughter behind her hand. "What?" he turns and the look he gives his younger sibling makes me shift uncomfortably on my spot on the couch.

"Oh don't look at me like that big bro. C'mon, we all know that Max is all kinds of fucked up so of course Tabs said she was alright for him. Do you think that your everyday, garden variety nice girl next door would make it two weeks with Johnny Vegas?" As I watch, Sid's dark, unhappy expression slowly softens and then he too shrugs and nods.

"Exactly my point," Tabby says, suddenly appearing beside Sid and lifting Cody out of his lap one handed, scooping him by his pajama clad bottom. "She's fine for Max but for Kris we want someone who whistles while she works," she grins over at me and a DVD magically appears in Toby's hand and he chews on the edge of the box, sending a line of spittle down the face of it, right over the picture of Snow White and some of her dwarves overlooked by her evil step mother.

"But you don't know…she's had it really rough," I explain, thinking about her mother still lying in a coma in hospital and the dad who disappeared when she was little.

"And that's Max's problem to deal with," Tabby responds affectionately, a maternal sort of smile on her face that's not for her sons but for me. "You don't want a complicated girl Kristopher. You want the nice girl from next door, some primary school teacher or a nice receptionist or something."

"And what if he loves her?" I look over at Sid who's watching me with that expression on his face that he usually wears out on the ice when he's analyzing the space between players, playing the moves they haven't made yet in his head. It makes me feel naked and not like naked physically because I've grown up getting changed around other guys and that doesn't phase me. Being emotionally naked though, that blows.

"Jesus, am I that transparent?" I ask, more to myself than to him and Sid looks back at me with a sympathetic, almost sad expression on his face as he nods.

"Then he does what a good white knight on his trusty steed does," Taylor says quietly as all of our attention swivels to her. "You save her from the dark night's evil clutches with a single kiss."

* * *

"Please come."

I'm begging and I fucking hate it. I hate that she's making me do it and I hate that she's wearing another one of those outfits that he picked out for her while she makes me do it. She looks great but she also looks corporate hot and that's more his thing than mine and it pisses me off. I hadn't thought of it that way before. I'd just thought he has good taste and if she looked kinda hot, it didn't matter if it was more the kind of hot that got Tanger off or not, but now it does.

"I'd just be farther away if something happened and besides," she says softly, wrapping her arms around my waist and laying her head on my shoulder, "I should go back. I mean, I don't have any reason not to go back home now that she's not there and…you'll be so busy you don't need to have me under your feet while you're being the big, strong man building that…what is it a hospital or a school?" She looks up at me with those big dark eyes and I still feel mad, but just not at her. She doesn't really look like she wants me to go and the way she's been touching me all the way here and the way she's holding onto me now, it's like a little kid not wanting daddy to leave and it fucking well is playing havoc with my head.

"Hospital," I sigh, cupping her cheek in my hand and leaning down to kiss her, capturing her full lips with mine and tasting the saccharine sweetness of her lip gloss. "Who'll kiss my booboos better if you're not there?"

"Big George can," she grins up at me with that sleepy look she gets when she's been thoroughly banged and I know I made sure neither of us got much sleep last night. If she wasn't going to come with me to Haiti then she was damn well going back to the 'Burgh not walking right for a week.

"You'll be there when I get back though right? At my place I mean," I add needing to think of her in my bed, in my house, still mine.

"Mmm, I don't know," she mumbles, looking down and away from me and I can feel that green gremlin rising inside of me, but she runs her hands up my back and presses herself close to me. "I should clean up my place, make it ready for if…," she catches herself and squares her shoulders as she takes a deep breath. "For when she comes home," she says, correcting herself and then she looks up at me again with those limpid pools of melted chocolate and smiles. "But phone me when you're on your way back and I'll be there. I'll even wear that purple velvet thing you like," she adds, that sad smile of hers suddenly turning into something that I'm more used to, that playful, seductive smile that makes me want to drag her onto the plane and make her a member of the mile high club.

"I'll really miss you," I tell her, meaning it and she smiles brilliantly at me and offers me her mouth and I kiss her hard, wanting her to leave her looking like a woman that's been kissed often and by a man who knows how to please a woman.

"I'll miss _you_ Maxy," she purrs, running her hand down until she's cupping my ass and giving it a good squeeze. "Who else will spank me when I'm bad?" She's making me hard and she knows it and the light in her eyes tells me that this is her own way of sending me off so that I really will miss her.

"I'll just have to give you some extra strokes when I get back to make up for it," I growl at her, pressing my erection into her stomach, letting her feel how much I'm going to miss her. I glance around, wondering if there's a washroom nearby that I can take her into and take her one more time for good measure, make her walk out of here with my cum dripping down her legs but what I see is some of the guys I'm going with giving me that look like they know what I'm thinking and Rupper even taps his watch and shakes his head at me. "I'll text you and I'll call when I can," I tell her instead. "I don't know what it's like for making calls. George said a lot of the lines are still down and that but I'll try."

"You'll come back all tanned," she sighs, like that's the one thing she's missing out on by not going, but then she looks up at me and lets me see in her eyes that she's thinking about how I'll look naked with a tan and that makes me groan out loud.

"Seriously, you're killing me, you know that," I sigh and force myself to think about anything else but her body, Flower's skinny white ass, Sid's disgusting jock and Brooksy's rank shoulder pads. "I have to go ma petite," I add, kissing her forehead and then her cheek. "Please be good, huh? Be a good girl and I'll be home soon." She nods and kisses me once more before Rupper physically drags me away from her and I go stumbling down the corridor to the plane, glancing back at her in that clinging black dress that screams sexy secretary and I pray that she isn't going back to Pittsburgh to the guy that helped her buy that dress.


	14. Chapter 14

_You tell me everything's all right  
As though it's something you've been through  
You think this torment is romantic  
Well it's not except to you_

_If I photoshop you  
Out of every picture I could  
Go quietly quiet  
But would that do any good  
Will it hurt? No it won't  
Then what am I so afraid of_

(from "Swallow" Emilie Autumn)

**Chapter 14**

"_You wouldn't believe the kids here. They're so resilient. I can't believe how happy they can be living in a tent with no facilities at all_." I grin because it's impossible not to when I hear the enthusiasm in Max's voice.

"You've only been there a few hours and it sounds like you're having a blast already," I sigh, pushing the door open to the intensive care ward. "Look, I'm not supposed to have my phone on in here. Call me back in a couple of hours, okay?"

"_If I can find somewhere to plug my phone in_," Max laughs and I can hear the sounds of happy kids in the background and I can tell that he wants to get back to them. "_Do you miss me ma colombe?" _

What I want to say is '_how can I miss if you if you keep calling?_', as if he's checking up on me. What I do say is, "you know I do, gotta go bye," before I hit 'end' and drop my phone into my purse as I turn the corner to head to the intensive care wing and the room my mother is in. I'm still thinking about how Max has called me three times since I landed this morning in Pittsburgh when I skid to a halt at the sight of my sister Jen, hands on hips, facing a man I don't recognize in a dark, pinstriped suit, holding flowers. The sight of a man in a well tailored suit makes me glad that I decided to wear my new favorite dress, the black mock necked sweater dress that makes me feel like the sexiest secretary in the world. If I hadn't been wearing it, I might have turned around and went back out to the parking lot until he'd left. As it is, the heels of my boots sound too loud in the hall. The intensive care wing is always so fucking quiet, so you have to hear the whoosh of all those breathing machines and the beeping of all the heart monitors.

"I just want to pay my respects," the man with the impeccably groomed silver brush cut is saying in this calm, almost soothing sort of voice that doesn't match the exasperated expression on my older sister's face.

"Now? You haven't been around for…for _years_ and _now_ you want to pay your respects when she's on a fucking ventilator? Do me a favor. Take those and yourself and get fucking lost." I watch as Jen makes a grab for the expensive looking bouquet in the man's hand, but he deftly moves the flowers just out of her reach as he steps back. I freeze, side stepping into the room of another immobile patient attached to any number of tubes and beeping boxes.

"Jenny," he begins softly but stops and I don't blame him. I know the look my sister is giving him and it's a look that would back off a charging tiger. That and I can't even remember the last time anyone called my sister Jenny, as if she still has pig tails or at least that's what she thinks.

"You don't get to just waltz back in here like nothing's happened," she snarls and I can see her narrow her eyes and purse her lips from here, neither a good sign.

"I just want to see her Jenny. Just for a minute. If she's as bad as the nurses say…."

"They've been talking to you?" Now I'm worried for the entire hospital as I see the tell tale red spots begin in my sister's cheeks that always foretell a huge explosion. The fingers on my left hand start to ache at the sense memory of her holding my hand underneath a teeter-totter while her friend stamps on the end of the playground apparatus come torture device and hearing my bones slowly shattering.

"I _am_ her husband Jenny". My heart stops, literally stops in my chest and yet my feet start moving forward of their own volition. I can still hear my sister arguing but I don't really hear what she's saying, it's all just background noise in comparison to my inner monologue which is going a mile a minute with questions I want to ask, like why did he leave, has he ever thought about me and where has he been?

"Dad?" Christ, my voice sounds like a tiny child's as it squeaks out of my mouth and when he turns those ice blue eyes on me that I thought I'd made up or at the very least misremembered and I suddenly feel like I'm only two feet tall with my thumb in my mouth and my blankie held tightly in my fist.

"Becka!" Shit. The sound of his voice is like melted butter on toast and the warmth in his eyes looks genuine and I end up sticking my hands deep into the pockets of my leather jacket to stop myself from running to him and throwing my arms around him. "God, look at you, an honest to god super model." I feel his hand on my cheek, big and warm and I find myself leaning into it, feeling tears well up in my eyes.

"Jesus," my sister hisses, pinching my arm hard enough that it I know it will leave a bruise and the pain makes me pull back, to reality and away from my father at the same time. "He left us Rebecca. This isn't some god damn Oprah family reunion."

"She _made_ me leave Jenny," he says quietly, but his gaze holds mine, like he's telling me and not her and not like there aren't at least a dozen sets of eyes trained on us, probably waiting to call security at any moment. "I wanted to come back, asked to see you, _both_ of you, many times," he adds softly, reaching out to me and I naturally go to him, fitting comfortably in against his body, in the circle of his arm.

"Yeah just like I'm sure you wrote and called," Jen adds in a sarcastic voice, making that '_I'm calling you on your shit_' face.

"I did, for a while," he says simply. "But a man can only try so hard for so long."

"You left us with _her_," Jen adds accusingly, pointing back at the still body in the hospital bed in the room behind her.

"_You_ left Rebecca with her," my father says, his tone suddenly less paternal and suddenly more forceful and as I watch Jen blinks at him, her mouth open but there isn't a single sound that comes out of her mouth for a long, amazing moment and then she squares her shoulders and a bitter smirk pulls the corner of her top lip upwards.

"If you knew that, if you actually care, why didn't you come back for her?" I pull back and look up at him, still feeling like that little girl who used to look up at this tall handsome man with all the warm fuzzy feelings of childhood innocence.

"I couldn't, you know that," he says in that same, forceful and stern voice that makes you want to stand up taller and straighter.

"Why?" I ask, tears of the little girl left behind flowing down my cheeks. I watch as a certain amount of indecisiveness plays behind his eyes and he grinds his teeth as he glances at the crowd on the edges of our periphery.

"I was in jail baby," he says quietly.

"Now tell her why," my sister prompts, sounding smug. I glance at her and then back at my father whose confidence is clearly cracking under my sister's glare. "This should be good."

"Jenny," he sighs, pain shining clearly in his eyes.

"No, tell her. Tell her why you were sent away, daddykins," she adds in a acerbic sing song voice, her eyebrows raised, a mocking grin on her face. Turning my attention back to my father, searching his ice blue eyes with the smoky grey rings around his irises that I used to think were the colour of a cloudy day, I see resignation on his face.

"I've done some things I'm not proud of and…."

"Just get on with it," my sister grumbles and my father's stormy eyes narrow and there's the slightest twitch beside his mouth.

"Assault," he says through his teeth, his voice taking on a dark tone that sends a chill down my spine as half remembered recollections begin to flood my imagination.

"Of _whoooo_?" my sister prompts him again, rolling her eyes impatiently, and this time something dark and very dangerous flashes in my father's eyes that makes me want to curl up in a small ball and hide and it feels like I've felt that way before.

"You know damn well," he says hoarsely, looking uncomfortably around him at all of the nurses and orderlies who are doing their best to look busy doing other things but all of us know damn well that if they could they'd give up the pretense of working and entirely and be sitting around with popcorn on their laps watching us with utter abandon.

"Oh _I_ know but _she_ doesn't," my sister points out helpfully, still grinning at him like a cat with a mouse under her paw.

"Your mother," he says, his gaze holding mine with an expression so pained that I know he's expecting me to react badly.

"And?" I ask, looking from him to my sister, waiting for something even worse to come out of one of their mouths.

"And she's your mother" my sister insists, looking pleased with herself, like she's won the big overstuffed teddy bear at the fair.

"And that woman is half evil. Do you know how many times I've wanted to kick her ass myself? Are you telling me he went to jail for hitting her?" I turn to look at the form in the bed that holds no sympathy for me and back at the man that I've missed for my whole life. "Why didn't you stand up for him? Why didn't you say something?" I ask looking at my sister for an explanation while she looks back at me like I've grown a second head.

"Because she's our mother."

"And he's my father!" As soon as I say it out loud I understand the answer to my own question. He's _my_ father, not hers. Her father left long before this man in the dark wool pin striped suit came along. I don't remember when I learned that, but I know it. "You're jealous," I hiss at her, thinking of all the nasty things that she's done to me over the years, things that I've always been told were just the result of normal sibling rivalry.

"Rebecca." I feel my father's hand on my shoulder and it almost hurts as I think of all the times I had wished that there was someone else to turn to, someone to comfort me when my mother would not or could not, when the booze got in the way and she became the evil twisted woman who yelled and threw things.

"Don't defend her. She has mom for that, always has," I add bitterly, seeing my sister in a way that I haven't for years. I feel the sting of tears in my eyes but staunchly refuse to allow myself to cry, at least not in front of her. However, she's currently blocking my only route of escape.

"Oh so he can just walk back into your life and he's the big fucking hero is that it?" she asks in that angry mocking tone she likes to use with me.

"Do you know that she's cried herself to sleep saying his name?" I snarl back at her and am immediately rewarded by a widening of her eyes. "I've been the one taking the bottle out of her hand when she's cried herself out," I add, pointing at myself and leaning towards her, enjoying being the one with the upper hand for a change.

"Yeah you care so much that you've been sitting here with her all this time," Jen shoots back at me, regaining some of her composure. "Oh, yeah I forgot. You've been running around with your playboy boyfriend, haven't you?" she asked, her head tilted to one side and her shit eating grin firmly back on her face.

"Back to that," I sigh, shaking my head. "Just because you got knocked up at fifteen and have to go home to a lazy welfare case with a beer gut." It's below the belt and entirely unfair and something I usually avoid saying to her, no matter how made I am, but now I'm pissed and unable to edit what's coming out of my mouth. "You left me in that house with her and her fucking booze and all those sleazebag losers she'd pick up at the bar coming and fucking going at all fucking hours. Did you care about _me_ then Jen? Were you there to protect me from them after she'd passed out? Well, were you?"

That's when I feel his hands on my shoulders again, pulling me back towards the width of his chest and I realize it's far too late for my father to protect his little girl. He's been gone too long and as much as the wounded child within me would like to let myself melt into his arms, allow him to fight my battles or at the very least allow him to protect me from the bile my sister is spewing at me and the horrible things that are coming out of my own mouth, I can't. Because it isn't him I want to protect me. Not anymore.

So, wrenching free from his grasp, I turn and walk quickly down the too brightly lit corridor, ignoring the judgmental stares of the nursing staff and my sister's shouted epithets that follow me like grasping fingers. Wrapping my arms around myself, I tell myself to go and keep going, anywhere, anywhere but here.

* * *

His place is empty. I'm not sure what I thought. I'd heard through the grapevine that Max was going to go to Haiti. I should have known she'd go with him. Still, with the surprisingly astute advice of Sidney's younger sibling still ringing in my ears, I had raced back to Pittsburgh, hoping to find her.

So far it looks like I've come on a fool's errand.

Still, just in case, I have an ace or two up my sleeve. I remembered some time while I was twiddling my thumbs on the plane that Max had said something about Becky never wanting him to pick her up and I started doing the math and the next thing I had my lap top out and was doing some sleuthing with the little information I have, and he doesn't.

So once I'd deduced that she wasn't at Max's I got in my car and headed for an address that I'd scribbled on a napkin, a trailer park that's not exactly in the best area of town.

Once I find the place, I make a mental note not to park my car out of sight and leave it just inside the gate, making a show or arming the alarm as I walk away from it. There isn't any grass, just pavement and run down trailers with abandoned and ruined cars around them, skinny strays with their ribs showing and I'm sure I see a rat running from beneath one trailer almost across my feet and underneath the front step of a single wide mobile home that looks like a crime scene from CSI.

The door is ajar and Becky is standing just inside, her arms held close to her body, protectively around her chest as she surveys the disaster inside; chairs turned over, smashed glass and plates, dog feces and rotten food dot the floor. There's little else to see. Whatever else was in the mobile home before is gone; there's no television, nothing on the walls, at least nothing that isn't lying smashed on the floor and even the refrigerator is hanging half off of its' hinges, empty.

Her eyes are red and bloodshot, her cheeks are streaked with mascara and her hands are trembling as I reach for them. I don't say anything and neither does she as I pull her towards me and then she sort of falls against my side and I wrap my arm around her and lead her to my car, which she falls into, without a sound, like some kind of rag doll. I even have to put her seatbelt and she doesn't even raise a hand to help, but not to be difficult, it's more like she can't. She just sits there, sort of broken and pale like a porcelain doll that's been forgotten and left out in the rain.

All the way home I think about taking her into my place, putting her into my bed but as soon as I help her out of the car, I head straight for Max's front door.

She stares blankly at the lock, as if she's never seen anything like it before and I end up digging for the spare key that Max keeps in the planter and taking her right inside, up the stairs and into the bedroom. I have to push her down onto the bed and even then she just sits there, silently, like a mannequin and stares at nothing in front of her. It doesn't look like nothing though, not when I look in her eyes. When I squat in front of her and study her face, she reminds me of those pictures you see of holocaust victims with their vacant staring eyes.

I try to press her down onto the bed, but at first she resists me. She even cringes and lets out a little whimper, sort of like a child would when you try and make them do something they don't want to do but know they have to. I try and say soothing things. I try to be gentle but it's like she doesn't hear me. It's like she doesn't know it's me or anyone at all. It's like she's somewhere else, _someone_ else.

It takes more than one try but I finally get her to lie down on the bed and then she curls up, brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, making herself tiny, like a hedgehog rolling into a protective ball. I can almost see the protective spikes she's trying to put out.

Even so, I slide onto the bed behind her and pull the quilt up to our chins before wrapping my arms around her and fitting my body behind hers, as close to her as I can and then I rock her like you would a child. I even sing Frère Jacques to her, over and over again, until her breathing slows and she relaxes in my arms and I'm sure she's gone to sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

_Love's singing our song  
But we fail to sing along  
Wherever you go I will follow_

_So please don't let it  
Please don't let it go  
'Cause if you won't let it I won't let it go_

_You try to be strong  
But you're always so alone  
Whatever I do I do it wrong_

(lyrics from "Please Don't Let it Go" by HiM)

_You never looked up  
You never look back  
You never did anything in between  
Are things black and white with you  
You never believed  
You never belonged  
Never made milestones to call your own  
I've got this feeling something happened here  
Something happened here_

_Hopeless - it's not hopeless  
Doubtful - but not hopeless at all_

(lyrics from "Did Anyone Approach You?" by a-ha)

**Chapter 15**

"Let's keep all _that_ to ourselves, okay?" Becky says quietly but firmly from where she is sitting at the kitchen nook, a glass of orange juice on one side of the newspaper she's scanning and a steaming cup of hot dark coffee grasped tightly in both of her hands. She's wearing a pair of black leggings under a black HiM heartogram t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a severe pony tail.

"By ourselves I guess you mean not Max," I reply, dragging a towel across my wet head and glancing towards the coffee maker to see if there's any more of the rich, dark liquid left to be had.

"Well…yeah him too," she begins, looking up from circling something in the paper. Her gaze lingers on my bare chest, which I'd selfishly hoped it would which is why I came out to the kitchen in a towel. I need to see if she thinks about that night. That, and having woken up with her head on my chest and her hand on my hip, it had taken every ounce of willpower I had not to roll her onto her back and take advantage of her. It was only the realization that she is in a fragile state and that it really would be taking advantage, plus the fact that it wasn't my bed she was in, which was part of why I'd chosen to bring her into Max's place and not mine. Even now, as I watch her struggle to focus on my face I have to remind myself that we're friends and that's what she needs right now, not my hang-ups but still, I'm a guy, and even if I know it's a little childish and it's probably something Max would do, I can't help but enjoy watching her gaze roam over my bare chest. "But uh…Sidney's wife doesn't seem to really like me and I kinda get this feeling that's there's some kind of a pecking order when it comes to the…what do you call them?"

"WAG's and I don't know that she doesn't like you. I haven't seen her go out of her way to exclude you from anything," I point out, only to have Becky sigh and return her attention to her coffee.

"Well she hasn't exactly gone out of her way to _include_ me either," she mutters, sounding just a little petulant but I can hardly blame her. That particular club of women can be hard to break into with any club and I have heard the things they've been saying about her.

"If it helps, Sid is one of my best friends in the world and he's one of the least judgmental people I know." It doesn't sound as helpful as I mean for it too when I say it but she nods, like it does mean something.

"I just don't think it would help for them to know about, y'know, the trailer. Especially now," she sighs and shakes her head. "I could kill my sister. She probably left the place unlocked when my mom went to the hospital. I mean…yeah I know that she was probably thinking about other things at the time but…," she shrugs again and looks up at me with glassy eyes and I know that she's been trying to hold it together but she looks like she's ready to fall apart again. "Anyway," she adds squaring her shoulders and putting on what I know is her version of a brave face, "I've made some decisions."

"Oui, qu'est-ce que c'est?"

"I'm going to get a job and I'm going to go back to school."

* * *

It really isn't fair, him walking around in that towel. Having finally come to my senses some timer during the deepest, darkest hours of the night, I'd found myself wound around his body like he's a really warm, really sexy teddy bear. I'd had to fight the urge to let my fingers do the walking, to read his body like Braille. It would have probably gone a long way to making me feel better, but it wasn't the right thing to do. So instead, I counted sheep, hated myself and eventually fell back to sleep.

And now here he is, wearing nothing but a towel, his wide round shoulders bearing the echos of my handiwork like some kind of badge that he's proud of. But that's not what keeps distracting me and nor is it the smooth, pale skin of his chest or his well defined pectoral muscles. No, damn it, it's that line of soft brown fuzz that begins just below his navel and leads…well, at the moment, beneath the towel and I don't allow myself to think about that.

"You don't have to change you know," he says softly finally sliding into the nook and behind the table which makes it both easier to breathe and easier to pretend that he's not just about naked. I watch him run his fingers through his west hair, slicking it back only to have it fall into his eyes again. "We're none of us perfect. Certainly not Max, not me," he adds with that almost lisp caused by his accent, which draws my gaze to his mouth, that nearly perfect cupid's bow that, when he smiles, only goes up at one side.

"Right, because Max is being a saint in Haiti and you…," I find myself lost in his deep, dark eyes and I have to force my attention back down to the pages of the newspaper open in front of me. "You're being _my_ angel of mercy." I keep thinking that I should find it harder to open up to him especially now that I know that he doesn't bat for the other side, but when I look up at that crooked smile and into those velvet brown eyes, he doesn't seem different just because we've had sex. In fact, I feel closer to him than I did before which I know is definitely going to complicate things but on the other hand I feel safe with him. "You saw that horror show, the bombed out rat's nest," I begin, a shiver running down my spine as I think about having to go back to the trailer park to clean up that mess. "I know now, because of you guys, that I don't want to go back to that but I don't want to be that girl…the girl that the other WAGs obviously think I am. I want to be _more_ than that."

"You make it sound like you have to be a brain surgeon to be our girlfriend," Kris says quietly, his dark gaze holding mine for a long moment that makes it clear that it wasn't a slip of the tongue or even a mistake made by someone for whom English is his second language. "Don't let them make you think you have to be something else."

"But it's not them. Or at least not _just_ them. It's me. Yesterday was…," I search for the right word to describe how my entire world had come crashing down around me but at the same time I finally saw the light. "It was…awful but it did make me realize that I don't want to keep perpetuating the same shit over and over again in my life. I don't want to use all the shitty things that have happened to me as an excuse anymore. I've been spending my whole life acting like I didn't believe the shit my mother and my sister have been saying about me, but I haven't done anything about making my life any different and I really don't want to bring up kids in a trailer park." I look over at him, wondering if he can even understand what I'm trying to say and the honesty that looks back at me, the earnest empathy hurts my heart.

* * *

"You don't have to," I begin, wanting to tell her that she's already found her way out, that I'm ready and willing to provide the life that she wants but it isn't really me she's talking to. She's psyching herself up and I'm just a sounding board.

"I know, right? I mean, I've been saying it. I've been saying that I'll get out, but it's like I thought it would just magically happen and then when it does…," her voice trails off as she looks over at me with this sort of sad little smile and shrugs. I know what she's trying to say without saying it, or at least I think I do. She doesn't want to screw up her chances with Max.

"I won't say anything, je vous promets," I tell her earnestly, even though it makes my stomach roil to do it when what I want to say is something else entirely.

"I know you won't mon ami," she sighs and there's something in her eyes and I want to believe or maybe I'm just hoping it's regret. Regret that it wasn't me she met first, that I'm not her knight in shining armor, even though I want to be. For just a moment I think if I speak up, if I tell her that she can choose, that it will be okay, I know she'll believe me. But then I think about Max and even though he's a jerk a lot of the time and I don't think he takes anything seriously, I know there's one thing he wouldn't do. He would never do this to me. So instead of telling her everything that's in my heart I keep my mouth shut and say nothing at all.

She shows me that sad little smile of hers' again and then she gets up and walks over to the sink and tips her coffee into it and I realize that I'm being dismissed. I'm not needed or maybe just not wanted right now and it feels like a knife in my chest

I stand there for a long moment, wanting to go to her. The friend part of me wants to ease the anxiety I can see so clearly in the tension in her shoulders and the way her usually full, sensuous mouth is pursed as she stares out the window, her dark eyes vacant. The part of me that wants to be more than a friend, that wants to consume her and have her all to myself, itches to press my body against hers and remind her of what we shared, what I know she felt before and what I want again.

Neither of those parts of me wins. Instead, I turn and head back into the bathroom, tug my jeans on and leave without looking back. I don't trust myself enough to do that. I'm pretty sure if I look back, if I even look up at her in the window as I cross the shared driveway, I'll go running back and throw myself at her feet like some kind of pathetic boy.

I'm pretty pathetic, just not _that_ pathetic. Not yet anyways.

* * *

I watch him go and I'm glad that he didn't argue. If he had, if he'd even asked me to think twice about it, I probably would have given in and thrown myself at him like some kind of feeble puck fuck. I'm even more glad that he didn't look back. The last thing I need right now is for him to see me cry because if he did, he'd do that whole white knight routine and I'm way too weak right now to resist that. I can't believe I almost made it through a whole cup of coffee without crawling across the table and into his lap just to have his arms around me again.

But I can't do it. I can't do that to him. I'm way too fucked up. I'm way, _way_ too fucking damaged to ever be good enough for that sweet man. I can want to be good enough, I can try to be good enough but I know that no matter what I do, I will never, ever really actually _be_ good enough for him.

He knows too much. He's seen too much. I can put pretty icing on it and a big 'ol dollap of ice cream on it but underneath I'm still plain old crusty sponge cake that's maybe a little overdone and a little stale.

It's like the clothes that we bought together. They're just wrapping paper that make me fit in with the other WAGs but that's all they are. Underneath I'm still the same white trash girl with the alcoholic mother and now, it turns out, an ex-con for a father. Maybe it worked in Cinderella but there isn't going to be a glass slipper for me, even if Kris is a prince.

I know Max likes the party girl, the fun Becky that laughs at everything. I know that he's mostly in it for the sex. I'm even pretty sure that if he knew about all the "dreckatude" that is my real life, he'd probably overlook it, or better yet, ignore it, but that's what's best for me. Max won't keep trying to kiss it better, like it's an actual open wound. Max won't remind me of it by looking at me with pity in his eyes scarcely disguised as sympathy.

And if I lose Max because of the darkness in my life, it will hurt, of that I'm sure, but it won't break me. If lost Kris…it doesn't bear thinking of.

It's just easier this way, better, for everyone.

Yeah, I tell myself as fingers dig into the countertop. It's better this way.


	16. Chapter 16

_You can blame and you can hide  
behind what is wrong and what is right.  
Life is the choices we make  
I hope you'll awake before it's too late_

(lyrics from 'Last Time' Within Temptation)

_Cupid's a heartless angel_

_With cruel composure_

_Don't say that you aim to please_

_Don't say that you love_

(lyrics from "Cupid" Spinnerette)

**Chapter 16**

Carefully easing Max's sleek European sports car up to the front steps of the mobile home that no longer looks like it's home to anyone but maybe a family of rats and put it into park. I'm sort of surprised to have gotten all the way to the trailer park. I'd somehow expected to pulled over and dragged out of the car by the cops, certain that I don't look like the kind of person who could possibly be driving this nice of a car. I'd have bussed it if I could have figured out how to get all of the cleaning equipment I'm sure I'll need to get this disaster area back into some kind of saleable condition which is what I'm going to have to do to pay for my mother's mounting hospital bills.

Sliding off the soft black leather and putting my sneaker clad feet on the cracked pavement, I look around to see blinds and curtains twitching all over the trailer park. Great, with my luck the car will be stripped, on blocks and burned out by the time I finish cleaning the bathroom.

Dragging a broom and mop from the back seat, I go around to the back of the car, the nape of my neck itching from all the eyes on me. Popping the trunk I grab the box of cleaning liquids, soaps, waxes and powders and head up the few steps to the front door where I stand staring at the lock, wondering how I'm going to get my key out of my pocket.

"Shit!" Looking down at the box I'm holding in both hands, and then at the mop I have stuck under one arm and the broom under the other, I realize I'm going to have to drop all of this in order to get to my key; great planning on my part obviously.

"Here, let me." I feel the broom handle slide from beneath my arm and then the handle of the mop follows and I can turn to see my rescuer, as if I really needed to see his face to know to whom that voice belongs, even though I am surprised to hear his voice. Even though we've been living side by side, we've been avoiding running into one another. Even when the newspaper comes in the morning, I've been waiting until Kris picks his up before I even go downstairs.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, feeling more than just relief as I look into his expressive dark eyes, still not sure now that his hands and mine are full just how I'm going to get my key out of my pocket, especially when the urge to ask him to slide his hand into the front pocket of my jeans makes things low in my body clench.

"I saw you packing all that shit into Max's car," he replies, wrapping his fingers around both handles and reaching out towards me for the box. I look at his arm and down at the box and I can feel that I'm making a face. Kris just tips his head to one side and smiles and then reaches more insistently, wiggling his fingers at me until I place the box carefully in the crook of his arm, watching his tat flex as he curls his arm protectively around it. "I couldn't, in all good conscience, let you do this on your own."

Turning back to the door, I dig into my pocket and pull out my key, slipping it into the lock and pushing the door open, wincing as a repugnant smell wafts out.

"Fuuuuck!" I immediately cover my face and step back.

"See?" Kris laughs as I scramble backwards, away from the stench that warns me that we're probably going to find at least one maggot infested carcass. "No one should have to face _that_ alone."

We share a shy smile and then both of us take a deep breath and head inside.

* * *

As we drop the last two garbage bags outside, we both wipe our foreheads and stand there, staring at one another with these strange smiles on our faces. It honestly hadn't been the reason I'd followed her here but this reminds me of one of those team building exercises they always have us do in training camp and it definitely feels like we've, at the very least, overcome the awkwardness that's had us doing that avoidance dance over the last week.

"Thanks," she says finally, closing her eyes and turning her face up to the hot summer sun. "I really don't think I'd have been able to get that done without help."

"Hey, tu et moi, sommes amis, remember?" I grin, reaching over for her hand, intending to just give it a quick squeeze, but as soon as my hand is around hers' something changes in both of our expressions and I don't let go, like I can't.

Her eyes slowly open and the expression she's wearing that only a moment ago had been one of relief and contentment now appears pained and confused and I don't need a mirror to know that the expression I'm wearing is much like that the one a dog wears when it's not sure if it's about to be kicked. She looks down at our joined hands and then up at me and I know what she's going to say before she even opens her full lips to give me that speech about how we can't do this and I so desperately don't want to hear it that I do the one thing I know is the wrong thing to do. I pull her to me and kiss her hard and fast, pressing her against the side of the mobile home so that she can clearly feel that my body doesn't care even if my mind does know that it's wrong.

She whimpers into my mouth and part of my brain tells me that she's probably trying to say no, but the other part of my brain brings up one of those images I've played over and over in my head of my body moving over hers', reminding me of when she bit down on her bottom lip to try and stifle a cry of passion as our bodies joined together and that part of my brain wins as my hand slides down to the small of her back, feeling her skin almost fevered to the touch where she's tied her t-shirt up and the sweat is trickling down her back.

"No, no, we can't," she whimpers as I unlatch my mouth from hers' only long enough to let her see in my eyes that I'm far past the point of being able to stop and even as she says it, her fingers are clawing at my t-shirt, pulling and pushing it up over my chest. I shudder as the palms of her hands press up over my nipples as I yank my shirt off, not caring where it goes as toss it away in my eagerness to get back to kissing her, to touching her.

"We _can_ because this is something we _both_ want," I growl as I press my mouth over hers, reaching for her tongue with mine as I lift her off of her feet and march her back into the mostly empty trailer, heading for the nearest bedroom and its naked mattress on the floor.

Putting her on her feet next to the sagging and slightly stained mattress, I reach to pull her t-shirt up over her head but she crosses her arms protectively in front of her and turns her face away.

"This is wrong," she says in a tight voice as she shakes her head, her chin almost pressed to her chest as I reach forward to cup her face in my hand, lifting her gaze to mine even as she tries to avoid my eyes.

"If it's wrong, why does it feel so right every time I touch you?" I ask, my voice hoarse, thick with emotions I know I shouldn't be feeling. "If it's wrong, why do you watch me from the kitchen window every morning when I go for a run?" Her gaze flicks to mine and it's easy for me to read the panic in her eyes. "If it's so wrong, why does your heart flutter when I touch you?" I add more softly, placing my hand over her heart, feeling it beating frantically, like a wild animal struggling against bars of a newly locked cage.

"It doesn't matter," she insists weakly and unconvincingly, trying to turn her face from mine, though I won't let her.

"It does matter," I advise her, pressing my fingers into the pale flesh of her cheek harder than I meant to, watching the indentations under my fingers turn red. "You matter to me. I…." The words I want to say die in my mouth as she turns her dark eyes up to meet mine and shakes her head as emphatically as she can considering the grip I have on her face.

"You don't…you don't love me and I…I can't…I _won't_ love you," she sniffs, sounding even less convincing and my heart squeezes painfully in my chest as a fat, silvery tear slides down her cheek and onto my thumb.

"Then let me have you," I whisper, kissing her eyes closed so that I don't have to see the gravity of the choice we're making in her eyes. "Let me have you this one time without him around Rebecca, s'il vous plaît."

* * *

I don't know if the sob comes from me or from him, but as his mouth cover mine and the taste of his lips mixes with the salt of my own tears, I feel my heart break and more than just a little. The pain should stop me from wrapping my arms around his back, from gripping his strong wide shoulders and pressing myself to him, but it doesn't. Neither does knowing that letting him kiss me this way, letting him gently lower me onto my old stained mattress is only going to make me fall more in love with him, will only make it harder to pretend.

Knowing that this will be the only time, the last time, should make us desperate, should make our movements frantic but it doesn't. Instead it seems like every moment, every touch is made in slow motion. It's almost like an out of body experience, like I'm watching him kiss his way down my neck, over my collarbone until he presses my t-shirt up over my breasts and his lips gently surround my nipple, sucking it into his mouth until I can't breathe, my fingers digging into his long, soft hair.

Even as he peels me legs out of my jeans, that action alone seems to take forever and it's like my entire body has become a lead weight, incapable of movement on its own so that he has to lift my legs and manipulate my feet in order to pull them off and then he just kneels there, over me and stares. I feel like I'm stoned, like I'm watching him through a miasma of some kind of liquid, like I'm on shrooms or 'x' or something or maybe I'm just trying to pretend like it's not really me doing this.

The few days growth that he's sporting on his usually baby smooth cheeks makes me shiver as he rubs his cheek on the oh-so-sensitive skin of my inner thigh. He looks up at me with those depthless dark chocolate eyes of his and then runs his tongue slowly but firmly up the cleft of my pussy, right over the thin, satin fabric of my pussy.

Shit! As if I'm not fucked already. There's no denying, no hiding how much I want him. My eyes squeeze tight as his teeth close gently around the nub of my clit through the fabric of my panties and it's his name alone that I breathe out as the first wave of pleasure rips through me, making my thighs shake and my fingers claw at the bare mattress.

I'm still trying to breathe through the orgasm as he pushes the satin and lace aside and digs his tongue deep into my entrance, his hands pressing down on my thighs, forcing them further apart as he sucks and licks his way back up to my clit before sucking it into his mouth and humming, making me shriek and writhe helplessly.

"Say you want me," he whispers, sliding two fingers into me and pressing up against my g-spot, causing me to lift my hips off of the mattress and press myself down against his hand. "Dire que vous voulez que cette." Rolling my head back and forth, I bite down on my bottom lip. I won't. My body might be consenting but I tell myself that if I don't say it out loud, if I don't verbalize it that I can deny it later. "Say it," he whispers hoarsely his free hand rubbing at the huge, painful looking bulge in his jeans. "Me dis que tu veux que je l'intérieur de toi."

"Yesssss." I shake my head again but what comes out of my mouth is nowhere near a denial and as more tears pour down my cheeks, he slides my panties off and drags his jeans down over his hips and, with a groan, buries himself deep inside of me.

"Ne pleur pas," I whisper as I kiss away her tears, tasting the salt on my tongue. "Je t'aime, je t'adore."

"No," she shakes her head and then presses her lips up against mine to silence me while her I feel the calves of her legs running up the backs of my legs. I feel her breasts pressing softly against my chest. Her rigid nipples feel like pebbles.

"Je ne pourrai jamais tu mentir, même si tu me demandes," I tell her as we move slowly together, our bodies parting and meeting in a slow rocking motion that's so good, it's almost painful. Our lips meet and our tongues dance in the same unhurried rhythm.

"Say my name," she whispers as kiss my way along the sharp line of her jaw and down along the curve of her arched neck.

"Becky," I breathe into her ear, licking around its edge and biting down on the soft lobe from which her large silver hoop earrings usually swing.

"No, say my _whole_ name. I love the way you say it," she sighs, her fingers digging into my scalp as I pull her hips off of the mattress so I can push myself deeper into her warm, wet centre.

"Rebecca," I whisper, my accent making the 'r' in her name roll. Her pussy tightens around my cock and I gasp, pressing my forehead against hers'. "Rebecca, je t'aime," I repeat and she sighs and the entire length of her body presses against mine, lifting us off of the mattress.

"Again," she insists breathlessly, her nails digging into the back of my neck. "Say it again."

"Rebecca, je t'aime tellement," I moan into her neck as I press my dick into her, balls deep, clenching my teeth as I try to stave off the orgasm, wanting to bring her again, wanting to feel her fall apart in my arms. I need to hear her scream my name. No muffling it this time with a kiss, or by biting into my shoulder. I want to hear it loud and clear. "Is it good bébé? Do you feel what I feel?"

"So close," she whimpers, her fingers kneading into my back. "So fucking close."

"Then cum for me mon ange triste, Laissez-vous aller." Using my hold on her hips as leverage I begin to make short but deep thrusts until I feel that wave inside her, the flutter of her muscles around my cock that tells me she's more than close and then I slam into her, hard. Once, twice and then she throws her head back and I feel her nails dig into my back, tearing at my skin as she says it, a sound that as satisfying to my ears as any choir of angels.

"Oh god yessss Kristopher!"

* * *

I wake in the dark, my body chilled, the smell of sex and sweat lingering in the air and I'm alone. The space where her body had been curled against mine is empty, except for a note. I look down at the folded scrap of paper and cringe. I don't even really need to read it to know what it says and my hands tremble as I reach for it.

Sitting up, I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the near dark. The only light is spilling into a small window behind me so that I have to sit kind of sideways and hold the note up to let the yellow light from the streetlamp outside fall on the scrawled letters that look so stark against the white background.

_Kris;_

_You are the sweetest, best man I have ever met but you are way too good for someone like me. I'd only break your heart and ruin your life. Please forget me and find someone who deserves someone as good as you. I think I'll always love you but I'd never forgive myself if you loved me back. I'll always remember this and hold this memory close to my heart but this can't ever happen again. Please don't try. _

_R_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"Honey I'm home!" Tossing my bag down on the tiled floor of the foyer I glance up the stairs to see a pair of black, knee high boots stomping their way quickly down the stairs toward me and my mood improves considerably. It was a long flight, I'm tired and hungry and I've been thinking about this moment for hours.

"I thought you said you'd be home by dinner?" Becky throws herself into my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck and her black and white striped tight clad legs around my waist.

"Our flight was delayed. Does this mean you missed me ma colombe?" I ask, tilting my head back so she can't press her full red lips against mine and so I can reacquaint myself with her pretty face.

"Of course I did, I've had to sleep in that big bed all by myself," she replies, that sultry grin of hers' replacing the happy go lucky grin that met me at the door as she raises an eyebrow and gives me that 'if you know what I mean' look.

"Well I'm here to remedy that, man chaton sensuelle," I growl, heading for the stairs with her still wrapped around me, but I don't get any farther than the landing before she's squirming out of my arms and hopping down onto her feet.

"That'll have to wait," she sighs, giving me a peck on the cheek and reaching for her leather jacket which is hung over the pommel at the bottom of the stairs. "I have to go to work."

"Work?" I glance at my watch and then up at her. I feel like whining. I feel like throwing myself down on the ground and kicking and screaming until I cry myself out in a good old fashioned tantrum.

"Yeah, I got a job at a mortuary, doing make up on stiffs," she grins, slipping her arms into her jacket.

"But I just got home," I pout like a child as she zips up her jacket, covering up the soft, curve clinging black sweater that had just felt so good against my skin.

"And if your flight had been on time, we'd have had time to get reacquainted but as it is…I'll be home before breakfast. First funeral is at nine. Can you imagine having to drag your ass out of bed that early for a funeral?" she laughs and then reaches for the door.

"Fuck the job Becks, stay home. I'll _pay_ you to stay," I add desperately as all of the x-rated visions that have been swimming around in my imagination all afternoon start blinking out of existence like popping balloons.

"You're sweet," she grins, taking the few steps back to where I'm still standing, dejected, on the landing. She cups my face in her hands and presses her mouth over mine in a long, soft kiss that doesn't make her leaving any easier, _at all_. "But I have to pay for my text books somehow."

"Books?" I mumble as she wraps her arms around me again in a bear hug.

"Oh, yeah, I started taking some courses," she replies happily, kissing my cheek again and then heading for the door in a way that clearly says she really is going this time. "So I'll be home for breakfast but then I really have to get a nap in. I have a business communication class at three."

"Class?" Ostie!, Now I really need a fucking soother. All the way home all I could think about was burying my cock deep in her pussy and having her make those little noises that I like and now it sounds like not only am I not fucking getting any, but that I won't be getting any anytime soon either. "Wait a fucking minute. I just got home. You can't just…what the fuck is going on? I thought you'd be sitting here with your feet up watching movies." It sounds bad the minute I say it but as insulting as I realize it sounds, I don't want to take it back either.

"Things have changed, a little," she adds, holding her finger and thumb up in front of my face like a tiny pinscher and grinning. "But don't worry you'll get used to it."

"And if I don't _want_ to get used to it?" She doesn't ask that question, just keeps smiling like she knows something I don't, like maybe the secret to cold fusion or maybe how to cure world hunger.

"Look, by the time you've unpacked and had a nice long tubby time," she sniffs near my hair and makes a face, "and get cleaned up a little, if you want, you can meet me at the funeral home and we can go for coffee, say around three?" she suggests, still wearing that damn cat that got the cream grin that is making me feel crazy.

"Hang out with stiffs?" I ask, perplexed.

"Oui," she smiles and then presses her lips to mine in a soft, almost maternal sort of kiss. "Well, I hung out with your friends, so, y'know, fair is fair." When faced with a reasonable sort of argument like that, what choice do I have?

"Alright," I grudgingly reply, knowing that I sound like a petulant child and not really caring that I do.

"That's better," she coos throwing her arms around me again. "I _am_ glad you're home Max," she adds in a throaty whisper that sends my brain reeling back to the fantasies I'd been building on the plane but I don't get a chance to even ask for so much as a quickie on the stairs before she goes skipping out the door, the keys to my sports car dangling from her fingers.

* * *

"You have a face like a slapped backside."

"Fuck! I didn't even hear you come in!" Max complains as he looks up from contemplating the bottom of a half empty wine glass. Navel gazing my mother would call it but I just call it moping.

"Front door was unlocked. Pretty stupid in this city if you ask me," Trina adds from where she's standing at the top of the stairs, looking like some kind of sex shop catalogue model in thigh high black stiletto boots, a short black leather skirt and a red and black velvet corset top.

"We saw you come home and then we saw your girlfriend leave," she adds, tilting her head to one side so that all her long, straight ebony hair falls down her arm. Max looks over at her and then at me.

"Plus Tanger has like, no food in house. It's like he's living on protein shakes and bananas," Jordy adds from behind the door of Max's fridge which he currently is holding wide open as he rummages through its' contents. "Score! Beer!" I watch him emerge with two coronas, opening one as he walks towards Tina with one held out towards her. It doesn't surprise me when she shakes her head at the proffered bottle. "Fine, whatever, more for me," my big blonde friend grins as he walks over to one of the overstuffed leather chairs in Max's living room and drops into it. "So you're back and your chick leaves. What's with that?" And that's why I suggested we come over here, because I knew Jordy would get right to the point and I feel better about his asking Max that particular question.

"She's working, apparently," Max grumbles, going back to staring into the deep red liquid.

"Good for her." I've been hoping that was what she's been doing, all the coming and going at odd times but I haven't asked. I've been doing as she asked. I've been staying away; however, my enthusiasm earns me a dirty look from Max.

"And she's going to…some class 'er other as well," he adds, downing the rest of his glass before pouring himself another one from the half empty bottle sitting beside it.

"Then super good for her," Trina remarks, walking around me towards Max and grabbing the bottle before he gets a chance to put it back down on the coffee table in front of him. We all watch as she takes a long swig before she curls up on Jordy's lap and snuggles into him like a big, contented panther. "What?" she snaps when we all continue to stare at her. "You've been all but calling her white trash yourself Talbot," she adds, using the bottle to point at him, "so good for her for trying to do something with herself. Not that I can believe that you've actually been a good example to her but…whatever works."

"I didn't say she's…," Max begins but when we all give him 'the look' he sighs and shrugs his shoulders. "I just want someone here when I get home, not out gallivanting."

"She's not gallivanting, she's trying to improve herself," I point out, immediately defending her, which earns me a raised eyebrow from Trina, who knows too much.

"It's not like you're in love with her anyway," Trina adds like there's no argument to be had, like that's the truth and none of us even look at Max for one, until he replies.

"I might be." It's three words and there said in this childish, churlish sort of way, but those three words make my heart sink. All I want is to prove to Rebecca that I'm the one who loves her and the Max I know would never say those words and I know it's only a matter of time before she realizes it unless….

"Might be? Well that's one hell of a romantic statement," Trina scoffs but he has her attention. He has all of our attention.

"I may not know what it feels like okay? But I missed her, the whole time I was in Haiti, I missed her and I couldn't wait to come home to her and now that I have and she's…she's fucked off somewhere, I really hate it. That has to mean something, right?" He puts his hand on his stomach, like it hurts and I'm hoping like hell that it's just a combination of bad airline food and rich wine but the immediate look of sympathy that crosses Jordan's face and the guarded glance he sends towards Trina crushes me.

"Well, well, miracles never cease," Trina laughs but no one else does.

"Good for you man," Jordan says finally, giving Trina a little shove that nearly sends her sprawling to the floor. She turns and gives him an evil look but Jordan isn't looking at her. He's looking at Max and the look he gives him tells me that he's more than just a little jealous of Max finally 'fessing up to having a heart. "But you should tell her, y'know? There can be a lot of…mixed up shit if you don't." Part of me wants to hold my hand over Jordan's big mouth for saying it, for saying anything, but the other part of me, the diehard romantic part has the fucking pompoms out and is cheering him on but for him, not for Max.

"Je ne sais pas si je suis prêt." I feel my hands roll into fists when he looks at me for advice. I remind myself that I'm supposed to be his friend and more than that, I love her and want her to be happy, even if it's not with me.

"Qui est, mon ami? Quand est-on vraiment prêt pour une telle chose capitale?"

* * *

'_You're hiding and you know it'_ I tell myself as I carefully apply a soft peach lip gloss to the old woman's thin lips while I try to ignore the dark stitches that hold her mouth closed. I knew that Max was coming home tonight and I could have come in later. In fact, I probably could have asked for the night off. The family that runs this place doesn't really need me here at all. I'm pretty sure they took me on as some kind of charity case, a favor to the professor at the local college who's taken an interest in my struggle to learn, which I was never very good at in high school, but I'm trying.

I thought I was ready for Max to come home. I believed that I could jump into his arms and be happy. We've been talking and texting and emailing and I really thought that we were making a connection and that I was feeling something for him again, but the minute I kissed him…the minute I knew I had to make a decision between coming to work or going upstairs and getting into bed with him…right then I knew. I knew I couldn't do it.

'_Adulterer'_, I call myself as I smooth some rouge on the old biddy's high cheekbones. It's not really fair, I know, maybe a little harsh to call myself that considering Max rarely, if ever, has even called me his girlfriend. He's called me lots of things, cute things and things I can't translate but they sound a little slutty, but he's never said anything about being exclusive and yet….

And yet, even though I've been telling myself he could have been having it off this entire time with someone down in Haiti, some black skinned beauty with full lips and a caboose to kill for, I don't really believe it. He was too happy to see me, too ready to take me upstairs and take his pent up sexual aggression out on me and the reality of it is, I know that if I'd just given into it, I would have liked it.

That's the fucking problem though isn't it? I like the way he rolls in the bedroom. I like the whole scratching, biting, room wrecking sex. I like getting sweaty and being that naughty girl who needs a spanking. I like waking up feeling like I've had a really good night and knowing that everyone will know it just by the way I'm walking.

But now I also know that I like the soft, sweet, tender, gaze holding way of doing it too. Not that I'd ever had anyone want to do that with me before. Not that anyone's ever looked at me the way that Kristopher did and tell me things like….

"I think I owe you an apology."

I nearly jump out of my skin, and I definitely break off the eyebrow pencil as I stab it into the stiff cold flesh of the cadaver under my hand. Hazard of the job I guess.

"I wasn't expecting you…this early," I add, because in truth I wasn't expecting him to come at all, or maybe I was hoping he wouldn't. I wince at the thought, but keep my head down, dabbing away the tiny brown shards the broken eyeliner pencil has left behind.

"I brought a peace offering." I look up to see Max holding two stainless steel travel mugs and what looks like a box from a bakery, complete with those sort of grey stains the white cardboard get when something ooey gooey good is in them. My stomach growls in response. He looks around for somewhere to put them down and finally decides on the top of a metal travel cadaver carrier. Someone's loved one had to fly home.

"You don't have to apologize. I'm the one who didn't say anything to you," I sigh, putting the pencil and rouge away in my tackle box and turning to face him, leaning on the white lead lined coffin with it's plush pink velvet interior. Now that's how a society dame goes in style.

"Yeah but I didn't react very well did I?" Max holds the cup towards me and push off, telling myself that this is what I wanted, that I have to try to make it work. "I was just being selfish," he adds I sniff at the contents, closing my eyes in bliss when I realize that it's Mexican drinking chocolate. "Forgive me?" he asks as I open my eyes.

"I can try," I smile, peeking into the box to find real cream éclairs, not those cheap ones with the aerosol whip cream, but the kind with real honest to goodness vanilla custard. "Mmm, I can try very hard," I add as he holds one up for me to take a bite of.

"I thought about you, well…I thought about us a lot while I was in Haiti," he says while I chew and want to tell him he doesn't have to say things like that but I can't, too much chocolate and custard in my mouth. I even try and pass the message on with my eyes but he either doesn't get the message or ignores it and continues. "I realized how much I looked forward to talking to you and even getting your emails really made me smile. I was really looking forward to coming home to be with you. Do you understand what I'm saying, mon chaton?" I stop chewing, but I don't swallow, half afraid I'll choke if I do so instead I shake my head and wait. "I think that it's not just fun between us anymore, ma belle. Savez vous ce que j'essaie de dire?"

"It's not?" I reply stupidly, my mouth still full of cream which I quickly wash down with the thick, rich drink, that warms me right down to my belly.

"I think you know that it's not," Max smiles, taking the mug out of my hand and putting it down before taking my hand and kissing first the back of it, paying special attention to each and every knuckle before turning my hand over and kissing the centre of my palm and then the inside of my wrist, before turning his gaze back up to meet mine and the expression in his eyes, those eyes that always remind me of the colour of a deep natural pool, makes my chest hurt. "Mon coeur tu appartient. Do you know what that means." I shake my head, silently, knowing how big my eyes must be right now, sure that there's chocolate and cream leaking out the corners of my mouth and hoping, praying that even though this is what I've wanted him to say, that it doesn't mean what I know in my heart it means. "It means that I am falling in love with you Becks. It means that you've got me twisted around your little finger and I don't want loose." He waits for me to say something and I just keep staring at him, hating myself for not being able to say anything back. I hate myself for wanting to love him and not being able to but mostly I hate myself for not being strong enough to be honest and just tell him that I love his best friend.

"That's good," I whisper and smile when he smiles at me, like that could ever be enough, and then I let him kiss me and I kiss him back and the sweet, rich taste of the chocolate turns into bitter acid in my mouth.


	18. Chapter 18

_it's one of those short but necessary chapters, thanks as always for your funny, entertaining and thoughtful comments_

**Chapter 18**

"I can't believe you didn't say anything!" Max pulls Sid's wife into a hug and she makes a face at me over his shoulder.

"I just get finished telling you it's a risky pregnancy and you're trying to crush my ribs," she groans, giving his back a firm pat. Unperturbed, Max turns to Sid who quickly back peddles, laughing and holding up his hands defensively.

"We didn't want to say anything until she got past the first trimester," Sid explains hastily, using his wife as a shield, effectively hiding behind her.

"So what is it this time?" Jordan asks as he adds another brightly wrapped present to the growing pile of baby shower gifts.

"I hope it's a girl," Sid replies with this hopeful smile on his face that makes all the guys stare at him, open mouthed.

"Really?" Flower asks, only to be punched in the arm by Vero. "What? I thought we were putting a team together."

"We? Oh so I can get pregnant now?" Vero argues back and Flower shakes his head vehemently.

"And who says a girl can't play hockey with the big boys? By the time this girl gets to be old enough…," Tabby's hand flies up to her mouth and her eyes get wide as she turns to look at Sid who's staring back at her with a giant goofy grin on his face.

"It's a girl? It's really a girl?" Risky pregnancy or not, he swings his wife into the air and let's out an ecstatic war whoop while she laughs.

I watch it all from the corner of the room. Not that I'm not happy for them, because I am. Sid's one of my best friends in the world, but other than maybe winning The Cup again, there just doesn't seem to be anything that can put a smile on my face. Especially not being around other couples who are happy and in love and more specifically when I have to watch Max put his arms around Becky's waist and kiss her neck.

I dig my fingers into my palms and try my best to smile while I'm dying inside. They look happy, or at least Max does. Becky's smiling, but she's hating this. She's doing her dutiful WAG duty, but I can see the tightness in the way she's holding her mouth, how her teeth don't show when she smiles. She knows what the other WAGs think of her but she's doing her best to be the new Rebecca she's trying so hard to be.

I want to tell her I'd never ask her to do that but that wouldn't really be fair to Max. I doubt he's even aware she's doing it, much less asking her to do it which I guess means he's not asking her to avoid me, even though it's obvious that's exactly what she's doing. Even now as I edge my way towards the spread that Mel and Vero and some of the other WAGs have put together, she unwinds Max's arms from around her and heads in the opposite direction. I tell myself not to watch her go but when I turn back to pick up an oatmeal and raison cookie from the table, I find Mel and Tabby's gazes both locked on me and both women are wearing the same expression of warning.

As if I need to be told.

"You still haven't told her how you feel, have you?" Tabby hisses at me accusingly. Now how do I answer that question?

"Let's put it this way," I reply, glancing over at where she's bouncing one of the twins on her knee, "she knows. She just…doesn't _want_ to know."

"Then why are you still staring after her like some kind of love sick jersey cow?" Tabby asks, slapping my hand away from a pile of cheese cubes which she and Mel seem to think is exclusively for them. Pregnant women and their cravings, I find it's safest not to get in their way.

"She doesn't love him," I explain with a shrug.

"And you know that because?" Mel asks, wincing and rubbing at her swollen mid-section. I glance at Johnny who's watching her like a hawk from the other side of the room. It's common knowledge that she's due to burst at any second. I'd heard him say earlier that her emergency bag is in the car, just in case.

"I just know. It's Max," I shrug. It's all I'm willing to say. I don't have the right to tell anyone any more than that. That's between Becky and I. I'll never tell. Not unless, one day she….

"He loves her you know." We all turn to find Jordan's squeeze and Mel's best friend Trina walking towards us, or rather, stalking, like a panther. She always walks that way. It drives Jordan crazy and she knows it and when I look over her shoulder I'm not at all surprised to see him watching her, his gaze fixated on her ass. It makes me wonder if I look that pathetic when I'm watching Rebecca.

"He doesn't," I argue, smirking at the very idea that Max has suddenly grown a heart.

"He does actually," she replies firmly, grabbing a fistful of grapes and tossing one up and catching it in her mouth. "He told me himself. Ask Jordan, he was there."

"Well _she_ doesn't love _him_," I insist, feeling secure about that fact at least, still sure that I'm right about Max's feelings as well.

"Sure about that?" she asks, glancing across the room with a raised eyebrow. I follow her gaze to find Max sitting with his thigh pressed alongside hers', their heads close together, matching smiles on their faces as he curls her hair around his finger. My stomach begins to ache and the air in the room becomes thick, like clotted cream and my head starts to spin but then she looks up at me from beneath her bangs and the barely disguised look of longing in her eyes makes my heart swell.

"Yeah," I nod, grabbing a Nanaimo bar and smiling at all of them. "I am."

* * *

"What are you doing?"

I nearly drop the finger sandwich I'm about to bite into as I look up to find four of the other WAGs bearing down on me. Blinking at them I try and think of what I've done. I haven't dropped one of the twins, or even taken Max up on the offer of having sex on the pool table in Sid and Tabby's games room, so I'm left unsure what it is I'm about to catch holy shit for, except for maybe eating the cucumber and mayo sandwich, which I quickly put down.

"I'm…not sure?" I look at all their faces in turn, that voice in the back of my head telling me 'see, they hate you' over and over again.

"With Max and Kris, what are you doing?" Sid's wife, Tabby backs me into the substantial and vaguely intimidating professional kitchen.

"Nothing?" My voice sounds too high and squeaky for my answer to be even remotely taken as sincere. Fuck me. I can't lie to save my life.

"So you have the two of them on their knees and you're going to say you're not playing games with them?" I look towards one of the goaltender's very pregnant girlfriend and shake my head.

"I don't know where you get that idea," I begin but am cut off by catty laughter.

"They're both in love with you," Trina sighs and gives me that look that you see in cop shows when the detective is sitting across the table from a suspect in the interrogation room that says 'stop shitting me'. "That doesn't happen without some kind of encouragement."

"Like you and Jordan?" It comes out of my mouth before I have time to edit my thoughts, before my brain can tell my tongue that it's only asking for trouble by opening that particular can of worms. As Trina rolls her eyes and shakes her head at me I silently curse Max for telling me things I shouldn't know.

"Jordan knew the rules before he got into it," she replies simply. "I'm not into commitment. I'm also not into gold digging," she adds raising her eyebrows and tilting her head to one side. The accusation, though left unsaid, is crystal clear.

"It's not like that," I mumble, hating how they make me feel like my mom or my sister often does, shitty and insignificant. "Look I know you guys hate me for whatever reason…," I begin, taking a deep breath as I try and think how I'm going to explain this.

"We don't _hate_ you," Tabby says quickly and in a voice that doesn't have any of the critical tone that Jordan's girlfriend used. "On the other hand, we're not sure we like you either," she adds as she leans back against the counter and rests her hand on her just visible baby bump.

"What we really don't like is what you're doing to Kris," Mel continues more quietly and when I look over at the backup's pregnant girlfriend her expression isn't at all threatening, but more contemplative. "He's probably the biggest catch left," she explains with a meaningful glance towards the living room where the boys are trying to put together some kind of mechanical swing contraption for the twins. "He's also probably the most sensitive guy on the team, aside from Flower," she adds quickly, leaning over to squeeze the number one goalie's long time girlfriend's hand.

"We don't want to see him get hurt," Veronique puts the cherry on top, and then they're all standing there, staring at me, waiting for my explanation.

"Neither do I," I tell them honestly, clenching my jaw against the tears that I can feel building in my chest and behind my eyes. "I've told him…I said we can't…," my voice breaks and I feel the first of what seems like it will be a deluge of tears slide down my cheek. I wipe it away and take a deep breath and lift my chin. "I really like Max. He's amazing. I know I'm lucky for him to want me," I add quickly, forcing myself to smile as I promise myself I will not cry in front of these vultures. "You don't need to tell me that."

For a minute, I think that it's going to be enough. I think that they're going to let me go at that. They share a look and both Veronique and Mel shrug and nod like they've accepted what I've said and I start to breathe again. And then Sid's wife, Tabby, tilts her head to one side and gives me that look. It's the look my mother has always given me when she thinks I'm holding out.

"You love him too, don't you?" she says quietly and when I open my mouth to deny it, she closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Don't bother. I don't know what it is but ever since I had the twins, it's like I have this sixth sense about shit like this so don't lie. You love Kris and he loves you, am I right?"

I'm going to lie. I know it before she even gets finished speaking. I'm sure of it when she gives me this sympathetic look that's really more pity than empathy. She knows I'm not good enough for him but I don't need her to tell me that, so I'm going to lie. It's as much for him as it is for me. God knows if Max gossips about his friends and teammates' lives they must too. So if I tell the truth it will get back to Kristopher and I won't let that happen.

"No," I smile, but I put the threat in my eyes; '_tell him and I'll deny it'_.

"Here you are! Are you girls talking about babies?" I lean back into Max as he wraps his arms around me and presses his scruffy cheek against mine. "I swear that shit is totally catching. Not that I'd mind," he adds, pressing his lips to my cheek. My stomach clenches.

"You'd make cute babies Maximus," Mel winks at him and I look back at him to see him grinning. He'd be a good dad. There's no denying it.

"What do you mean I would? I'm totally going to, n'est-ce pas, mon créateur peu de jolis bébés?" I roll my eyes but the look on all of the women's faces is less skeptical than shocked.

"I'm not," I lie, or at least I think it's a lie because I haven't had the guts to actually find out if that's why I've missed my period. There could be other reasons, stress for one.

"But you could be," he continues, squeezing me hard before sliding his hands slide down until they cover the thin strip of skin between the bottom of my sweater and my jeans.

"You wouldn't like me if I was as big as a house," I tell him in a stage whisper as I glance towards the backup's girlfriend who's rubbing at her swollen belly, a belly that seems to have a mind of it's own, that moves under her hand.

"I would," he promises, his teeth closing around my earlobe, his body pressing eagerly against mine, making it all too clear, especially against the small of my back just how much.

"He does have a thing for the preggos," Jordan gives a shudder as he mimics Max's position behind his own girlfriend and Trina sneers in derision at the thought.

"All ripe and juicy," Max whispers in my ear and grinds his growing erection against my ass but when I look back to shoot him a look of warning, his gaze is fixed on Mel and he's wearing the same obsessive expression Jordan has been wearing all day around Trina.

"You're disgusting," Vero sighs and rolls her eyes but when she turns to Mel for support, she only giggles and winks at Max.

"You want a piece of this Frenchie?" she laughs, suggestively rubbing her stomach and rolling her hips. "All plump and ready to burst?" she adds, cupping her overripe breasts and licking her lips. It's not my imagination, Max's erection gets longer, harder and he presses it more insistently into the small of my back and his hands begin to slide north.

"Oh no you don't," I hiss, grabbing his hands and stopping them from mimicking the way Mel is holding her tits like they're two ripe melons. "Jeezus, have a little decorum." I don't know if I'm saying it to him or to her but as I dig my nails into his hands to remind him that he's in public he isn't the only one that winces and hisses in pain.

Mel looks down between her feet and curses and then we all look down at the pool of sticky liquid pooling around her feet.

"Ah damn," Tabby grabs a tea towel and throws it at Vero. "Brent, call the hospital! Tell them we're on our way!"


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to pace around the hospital waiting. I didn't want to listen to the excited, anticipatory half whispers from the other WAGs. I didn't want to watch Johnny pass out cigars. I didn't want to be where people were happy, their lives moving forward, sharing in love and joy.

What I wanted to do to wallow in self pity. I wanted to sit alone, in the dark and wish for things I couldn't have. I wanted to close my eyes and think about the few, the brief stolen moments, those golden images I hold in my imagination like warm coals from a fire. I wanted to think about Rebecca.

As I lay there, alone, in the dark, on my bed, I decided that I hated her. I hated her for choosing him. I hated her for loving me and not letting me love her. I hated her letting him touch her, letting him hold her in his arms when I knew that she wanted to be in mine.

But even as much as I decided that I hated her, I knew I hated myself more. I hated myself for not having the guts to take what I wanted. I hated myself for sticking with the code. I hated myself for putting my friendship with him ahead of my heart. Mostly I hated myself for being weak enough to give into temptation in the first place.

There are so many women, younger, older, that offer themselves to us every day. It's like being at a smorgasbord of ripe, juicy loveliness. Everywhere you look, their cherry coloured lips smiling, their glittering eyes promising carnal gifts that make your cock hard just to think about it. When I was a rookie, it was like being at a desert buffet and every night you took a different desert home and rolled around in the hot fudge and whipped cream and took a bite out of all of the strawberries and cherries until you hated the taste, until you couldn't look at another desert, until all women looked like whores, all perfume smelled cheap and you looked forward to going to bed, alone.

I could have one now. I could go to a bar and there would be a few girls who would know who I am and I could bring one home and sink my cock balls deep into her. I could, but I know it wouldn't make me feel better. It wouldn't make me forget. Because those girls are like having a cookie from a bag you get at the grocery store, sort of crumbly and dry and they don't satisfy. They're nothing like the ones your mom makes that you get straight out of the oven, still maybe a little too hot to eat, but they're so sweet and so gooey and melt in your mouth that you don't care if maybe they burn you a little. That's what Rebecca is to me, hot and sugary and so delicious that I don't care if I burn my fingers and my tongue and….

The light in Max's bedroom goes on. I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It's only been an hour. I can't believe that Mel has had the baby yet.

Rolling over, I sit up and look over. It's just Rebecca, no Max in sight, but that doesn't mean he's not there except that I don't hear his voice. I didn't hear them arrive either, I realize as I watch her shuck her leather jacket onto the bench at the end of the bed. I didn't hear the car. I didn't hear him nattering away like a fish wife all the way into the house like I usually do.

Maybe she walked.

That would be so much like Max to just let her walk home alone, just so he can be there when the cigars are handed out.

I tell myself not to, to go back to my own bed and continue to do what she's asked me to do; leave her alone. I tell myself to but instead I sit there on the edge of my bed and watch her, like I've been doing ever since I woke up alone in that trailer park. It's like being on a diet but staring at a cake, wanting it so much you can practically taste it, but that's all you do. You know you won't let yourself eat it but you keep looking anyway.

She stands in front of the full length mirrors on the front of his closet. I remember when he had them put in, he was so proud of his choice, thinking about all the girls he was going to fuck while he watched himself in the mirror. It was only Sid and I that managed to talk him out of putting mirrors on the ceiling too, telling him that girls would think that was tacky, that they might leave and he'd end up jerking off looking at himself but that was it. I think Jordan still did it though.

She turns, looking at her profile, her hands sliding up over her stomach, pushing the soft black sweater up and up until it bunches beneath her breasts and then she tilts her head to one side and pushes her stomach out, to simulate being pregnant I guess. It can't be because she thinks she ate too much, she hardly ate at all at Sid's house.

I watch her smile at herself in the mirror, a silent sort of laugh that lights up her entire face and makes my chest ache at the same time. She's so fucking beautiful it hurts to watch her and know I can't have her, that she won't ever be mine and yet I can't look away as she pulls the sweater up over her head and tosses it behind her so that it lands on the end of Max's king sized bed with it's black silk sheets. I squeeze my eyes shut. I've imagined her pale skin against all that darkness so many times and I can't help but do it now, my fingers making quick work of the button and zipper on my jeans, freeing my throbbing dick as I imagine her ivory skin on those black sheets and me, kneeling between her milk white thighs…..

* * *

I should just get rid of it, I know. Get rid of the evidence and there won't be any questions. Get rid of the evidence and soon, before I start to think of it as something real, something I'm responsible for.

He'd probably even pay for it, if I asked. Except he wouldn't, he'd probably try and talk me out if it, which is why I won't tell him. I won't tell anyone but I especially will never tell Kris. It would break his heart.

I can close my eyes and see his dark eyes light up and his lips turn up in a broad smile. He'd be so fucking happy. He'd beg me to leave Max and I would, I would, to be with him, except it would all turn into a fucking disaster. He'd just end up hating me. Maybe we'd end up hating each other. Either way, there's no point in telling him. I just need to get rid of it and I need to do it before the idea of it fucks up my head any worse than it is now.

Besides, I'd be a terrible mother. Look at the example I've had. I wouldn't do that to some poor innocent kid. At least not yet, not until I get my shit together and get my head on straight, actually finish some of the things I've been working on.

If I had to, I could probably convince Max it's his. I didn't think he was really into that whole happy families thing until this afternoon. Being with him, all afternoon, with those women and their happy fucking lives, and then he starts in on wanting a sprogue of his own…it's a good god damn thing that woman's water broke or he might have suggested some kind of sex party right there in the kitchen he was so turned on by the idea of making a baby, or having a baby or…or whatever.

Well maybe they're ready, or think that they are, but I'm not. The whole idea makes me sick to my stomach. For one thing, I can't imagine putting my body through that right now, being all big and uncomfortable like the backup goalie's girlfriend, although she had a certain glow…

Turning sideways in front of the mirror I pull up my sweater and stick my stomach out, trying to imagine what I'd look like. It makes me laugh. I remember my sister being like that. The first time she thought it was fun but what did she know, she was just a stupid teenager then.

I wonder if she'd do it again, get herself tied down again, if she had the choice to be free. She got so old before she had to be. She missed so much and I've hardly done anything with my life yet. I feel like Max has just pushed aside a curtain, given me a glimpse of so many possibilities, shown me that there are things I can have if I just try and I don't think I can give that up for anything or anyone.

It has to be hormones, I think as I slide my hands up over my bra. My nipples have been aching for a week. I looked that up online, that and my popping antacids like they're Smarties are definitely signs that if I actually work up the courage to pee on a stick it's going to tell me something I won't like.

Sliding my hands into the lace cups of my bra, I wonder if it's my imagination or if my breasts are actually heavier, fuller. I look at them in the mirror and gently run the pads of my thumbs over the dark pink areolas. Are they darker than they were a week ago? That's another sign I remember reading.

Fuck they're more sensitive, that's for sure, even more than they can be right before my period. I draw a ragged breath as I roll the pebble hard points between my finger and thumb. It hurts, yes, but I can't help but wonder what it would feel like if he touched them, if he took them in his lips, bathed them with his tongue.

Pulling off my sweater and tossing it behind me, I close my eyes and imagine the soft brush of his hair against my skin as he bends to draw my nipple into his mouth. A shudder runs through my body and an answering vibration inside of me sends my other hand down to the fly of my jeans.

Unsnapping the button and peeling down the zipper, I slide my hand down, dipping my fingers into the anticipatory moistness that occurs every time I think about him. Pressing on the button and squeezing my nipple at the same time makes me gasp. _Fuck_! Everything is so sensitive. It feels like a breeze could blow across my clit and it would send me into paroxysms of pleasure.

With a glance towards the door I remind myself that she'll probably still be in labor for hours and even if Max gets bored he won't be back soon and then I unsnap my bra and shimmy out of my jeans and crawl onto the bed. This won't take long.

* * *

With a groan I squeeze the base of my dick, tightening my fingers around it trying to delay the orgasm as I watch her slide onto his bed, draw he knees up and slide her fingers into her black lace panties. Licking my lips, I easily recall the taste of her skin, the feel of the hard bud of her nipple in my mouth and my dick gets even harder, throbbing in my hand. Her full lips open and I imagine I hear her cry out, though no sound reaches my ears.

"Me dis que tu veux que je l'intérieur de vous," I hiss through clenched teeth as I watch her cup her full breasts, running the palms of her hands over the pink erect nubs of her nipples. I know how they feel pressed against the palms of my hands. I know the sounds she makes when my hand gently squeezes them. I imagine that sound and feel my cock pulse against the pressure of my palm. "Pas encore," I whisper as I watch her slide her panties off and toss them aside, spreading her thighs farther apart.

Moaning, I stumble towards the window, wanting to be closer, hoping to catch the scent of her heated pussy on the late afternoon breeze. With one hand braced on the window sill, I slide my hand up the full length of rock hard pole, giving the angry red helmet of my cock a squeeze before sliding my hand back down to the base. I don't want to cum too soon. I want to cum with her. If I can't be inside of her, it's the next best thing.

The problem is I don't know if I can last that long, especially when I realize she's watching herself.

She's propped herself up on the pillows and she's watching her reflection in the mirror as she slides her fingers slowly in and out of her pussy. I wonder what she's thinking. Is she imagining that it's someone else touching her there? Or is she imaging that she's being watched, that the mirror is someone standing there, watching her play with herself?

Is she imaging me? Or is it Max; or maybe someone else entirely?

"Oh mon dieu ce soit moi," I groan, moving my hand slowly up and down the length of my cock, thinking about the soft wet heat of her pussy and the way it fits so perfectly around my shaft, like a glove. I feel my balls tighten as I think about the way her pussy lips sucked at my dick, pulling it deeper, milking it as she came for me, her entire body glowing as her hips bucked against mine. "Ostie!" My cock throbs in my hand and my entire body sways forward, wanting to be inside of her, filling her, instead of bare to the cool breeze.

My gaze is riveted to her fingers as they work her pearl, moving in tight hard circles as her she bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes half closed. '_Oui mon chéri'_ I think towards her, sending her my thoughts, '_venu pour moi'_.

Her head tilts back and her other hand leaves her breast and slides down over her stomach and down, down between her thighs until one then two fingers dive into her slick pussy and she cries out, a wordless sound of anguish mixed with pleasure. I grab a tissue from my bed stand, prepared to shoot my load as she cums, my hand working my knob vigorously, beads of perspiration breaking out on my face as I get close.

"Oh god yes! Yes Kristopher! Oh god Kris, fuck me!"

I freeze, my hand stopping mid stroke, my fingers digging into the window sill as she calls out my name, her voice carried on the wind like a song.

Oh hell…what do I do now?

* * *

My hips lift off of the bed and I scream out his name, imagining his thick cock buried deep inside of me, his lips fastened around one of my aching nipples, his thick fingers working my clit, making me cum for him. My entire body is like the string of a bow, pulled taught, quivering and humming with energy and then suddenly released, my body falling back onto the bed, spineless, boneless, quaking like jelly released from a mold.

"Oh Kris," I whisper, my eyes squeezed shut against the sudden feeling of loss that materializes every time the fantasy is over. "I love you," I whisper to his vanishing specter.

"Et je t'aime ma chérie."

"No, no you shouldn't." It's the same every time I fantasize about him. It's so real that I can hear his voice, smell the warm musk of his skin, feel his tender touch and every time I have to dismiss him, force away the sweet memories so I can go back to trying to make something with Max.

"But I do mon coeur." I shake my head and brush at the tears that escape and roll down my cheeks. It's so hard. I don't want to feel this way. I don't even understand it. How can I love someone so much that I hardly even know? "Avec tout mon coeur."

"No, no you can't," I whisper, rolling myself into a ball, and then my eyes pop open when I find myself pressed against a warm body. "No…no you can't be here," I hiss, pushing at him, shaking my head even as his strong arms lock around me, holding me to him.

"You called me," he whispers, kissing away my tears and then kissing my lips, his mouth moving gently over mine until, with a whimper of defeat, I kiss him back. His tongue moves softly against mine and he groans into his mouth as he tucks my body beneath his. "I want you amoureux. I want to be with you," he whispers against my mouth as his hands skim over my heated skin, making me gasp as my sensitive flesh shivers under his touch.

"Yes, yes now," I gasp as his fingers slide into the slick wetness between my thighs, as he gently begins to massage my tender clit, the look in his eyes telling me he knows he can bring me just like this, that he won't have to do more but that he will, and that he can't wait.

"Tell me," he whispers, his handsome face hovering just above mine, his eyes the colour of hot chocolate searching mine. "Tell me you want me. Tell me you love me."

"No," I whine, turning my face away and shutting my eyes tight. I won't say it. My body presses down against his hand, wanting him, showing him how much I want him, but I won't say it out loud.

"Say it, dire que tu me veux Rebecca. Dire que tu m'aimes." His lips are warm and insistent on my neck, his teeth digging into my shoulder, grazing my collarbone, until they close around my nipple and he sucks it into his mouth, sending me over the edge, my body pressing up to his, and down onto his fingers, fucking his hand as I cum again. "Dire que tu m'aimes," he whispers again, kneeling over me as he drags his shirt over his head and shakes his hair out until it falls into his eyes as he looks down at me. "Tell me."

* * *

"I...I love you," she sobs and looks so despondent that I think I've done the wrong thing, that I've made her say it, but then she reaches one trembling hand out and I lay my cheek in her hand and she presses her lips up to mine in a long, soft kiss that makes my heart swell. I may have made her say it, but she feels it too and that's all that I need.

Scrambling out of my jeans, I finally free my throbbing shaft and guide it gently into her hot, wet tunnel. I want to bury it, all at once, but I don't because even though I'm sure I won't last long, I don't want to cum all at once. I want to enjoy the feeling of her wrapped around me, I want to feel myself buried deep inside of her and I want to hear her scream my name when I make her drop over the edge before I do.

"No more denials," I tell her as I hold her close, feeling her muscles tighten around my shaft. "We're meant to be together ma chérie. You know it," I whisper into her ear before kissing my way down her neck and up again. "You break my heart," I tell her, stroking her hair back from her face. Her lips press up to mine and I can feel her pouring her heart into that kiss.

We hold onto one another like we're holding onto a life raft and neither of us is willing to let go. Our bodies melt together and we move in unison, parting and coming together in soft, slow movements. I want to make it last and it feels like a dream, like it could go on and on and on. I feel like I could stay inside of her, stay in her arms forever but I feel her body tighten and her fingernails dig into my shoulders and I can't hold back any longer.

Burying myself deep inside of her I let go, emptying myself into her and for the first time in my life tears follow on the wave of the orgasm. I've seen women do it, and as I gaze down at the woman I love, tears spill down her cheeks, but it's never happened to me. Pressing my forehead to hers' I tell her everything that I feel and this time, I don't see her trying to fight back, fight me.

"I love you," she whispers against my mouth.

"Je t'adore, je t'aime Rebecca," I whisper back, kissing her softly, tasting her tears mingled with mine.

"Well I'm so fucking glad everyone's so fucking in love," Max's voice rips into our momentary Eden, "but I think you've got some fucking explaining to do."


	20. Chapter 20

t_hanks for your patience, as always. Now that a certain someone is finished his mid terms the pc should be a little more free!_

**Chapter 20**

I expected crying, wailing and sobbing. I expected stammered apologies. I expected her to plead for my forgiveness. I even expected Kris to put up his dukes. Instead, he hands her his t-shirt, which she silently pulls over her head and then stretches over her knees as she pulls them up to her chest, making herself as small as possible, entirely avoiding eye contact with both of us while Kris tugs his jeans back on and then sits at the end of the bed staring at the floor between his feet. I can't help but notice that he leaves the top button undone, as if he's ready to get back to it, as if he's not planning to leave.

"So how long has this been going on?" Kris is hiding behind his hair and Becky's staring at her feet but I wouldn't exactly say either of them is looking particularly guilt ridden. He looks back at her and she merely shrugs one shoulder, like it's up to him to say. I feel my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. I want to fucking drag him to his feet by his hair and punch his teeth down his throat. The only thing holding me back is the code; you don't fight guys on your own team.

"While you were gone…in Haiti," Kris says quietly, looking up at me through his hair like he knows he deserves a fucking beating but there's a defiance there too, a look that says he'll take the beating but he's not going to apologize.

"Oh I get it, so while the cat's away…," I begin but Becky looks up at me and her expression is even more rebellious. There is only the slightest hint of contrition in her eyes.

"It wasn't like that. We tried not to. Both of us...we really tried to avoid this." I hate that I want to believe her. I hate that I want to say it's okay, so instead I focus on the churning in my gut and think about all the times I lay in my shitty little motel room in Haiti thinking about her when I could have been out dancing like the rest of the guys.

"Yeah, I can see you were trying really hard not to fuck him in my bed," I snarl, mostly at Kris because somehow it's easier to be angry at him. Not only has he fucked my girl but he's broke the code and somehow that's worse.

"I love her," he says simply and firmly, his gaze meeting and holding mine.

"Yeah, I heard." I suddenly feel awkward, like I've stepped into someone else's private moment. I don't know where to look and I hate that I can feel this energy running between the two of them, like they're touching even when they're not.

"It's not like we planned this and we didn't do it to hurt you," he adds, like it matters why. I don't want them to see it though, that it does hurt, so I take in a deep breath, roll my shoulders back and lift my chin, giving them my best 'I'm not bothered' look.

"Who's hurt?" I shrug, sneering at them both like I could care less that the room reeks of sex and I wasn't even involved. "I fucked a ton of girls down in Haiti. I was getting my dark meat on," I lie, wearing my biggest, fakest shit eating grin. Kris looks like he believes me, like he's shocked that I'd do that to her. Becky, on the other hand, only glances at me quickly. She knows I'm bullshitting, but she has the decency not to call me on it in front of him.

"So you're saying you're okay with this?" Kris asks, looking up at me hopefully. As if I'm going to give him the 'father, son and holy ghost' wave and make this all above board and kosher. Yeah right, as if he's getting off that easy.

"Fuck no," I laugh, or make a sound that's as close to laughing as I can while I'm choking on my pride. "Vous pouvez sortir, for a fucking start," I growl, "et prendre ta putain avec vous."

"Don't…don't call her names. If you want to blame someone, blame me, not her," Kris growls back at me, finally showing some signs of having rediscovered his balls, his hands curling into fists on his lap while he glares at me.

"Je vais lui dire de me sucer la bite si je veux," I reply calmly, smirking back at him until I see the red haze fill his eyes, his jaw clenching, his lips forming a thin, angry line. I've seen him like that before, right before he pummels the shit out of a guy out on the ice and truth be told, I'm kind of looking forward to it. Physical pain would be way better than standing here, feeling like the odd man out, like I'm so fucking secondary to requirements it's not funny.

"Ta gueule fils de pute," he growls back at me, getting to his feet and closing the distance between us until his nose is almost pressed against mine.

"Tu es la personne qui est le vissage d'un sale pute," I hiss back at him, giving him a bump with my chest, and then shoving him back onto the bed. Not that he stays down long. He bounces right back up and nearly lands what would have been a savage left hook, only I step back just in time and go cross-eyed as I watch his knuckles go by within a cunt hair of the bridge of my nose.

"Don't!" We both look back to where Becky is struggling into her jeans. "Don't fucking fight over me. Shit! I'm not worth fighting over. I'm not…this isn't…," she tosses Kris's t-shirt at him and reaches for her own sweater, dragging it down over her head and I don't want to stare at her chest, but knowing it may be the last time I get to look at her tits, I can't help it. "Fuck! This is exactly what I didn't want. I didn't want this…I don't want anyone fighting, especially not over me."

"Amie, s'il vous plaît ne dis pas que tu n'es pas la peine." Kris gives me a dark look and then goes to her, tries to put his arms around her but she pushes him away and reaches for her shoes.

"And stop doing that," she adds, tugging one shoe on while hopping on one foot. "Stop being all…frenchy lovey dovey. I can't…I can't think straight when you do that." He gives her his arm for balance, like as if that's something that's second nature to him, very knight in shining armour kind of shit. She looks up into his face and the expression on both of their faces…well shit.

"You love him…you really fucking do, don't you?" I ask, the words tasting like dog shit in my mouth. She keeps looking at him, but not like she's looking for answers but like she's telling him and not me.

"Yeah, I guess do," she says simply and he gets this goofy ass grin on his face that makes me want to be sick.

"Then do me a solid and get the fuck out of my face."

* * *

"I should go."

She sits there, perched on the edge of the couch like she is going to get up and leave any minute. I want to sit next to her but I don't, because she wouldn't even let me hold her hand when we walked across the driveway. She's jumping at every sound and I can't blame her. That was too easy, way too easy. Even I keep looking towards the door, expecting him to come in and start breaking shit.

"And where are you going to go? The trailer park?" I ask, a little more sharply than I mean to. She winces and goes back biting her nails.

"It isn't sold yet. I could," she mutters with just enough of a petulant and childish tone to make me smile.

"Well you're not going there," I tell her, reaching out to cup her cheek and this time she doesn't draw away, "and not because it's a trailer park, just because I want you here."

"Do you think that's fair, to him?" she asks, looking up at me and where I keep expecting tears and even sympathy for Max, instead I see a resolve I hadn't expected to find.

"No, probably not, but this is my house and he's not going to tell me who can stay here and who can't. Besides," I add more softly, pressing my lips to her forehead, "I'll sell this place, right away and we'll find a place, a better place." I expect my offer to meet with grateful approval but all I get from her is a blank look. "What? This is about us now." Bending down in front of her, I pull her hand gently away from her mouth, kissing her torn nails and shaking my head. "Do you think that my heart is something I give easily, mon ange? Did you think I wasn't serious when I told you that I love you?"

"No," she sighs as she slowly raises her gaze to meet mine. "I just think this is such a bad idea. You've seen where I come from…what I am…." Her voice trails off and her gaze follows and I follow her gaze in time to see Max walking across the driveway with purpose. Cursing under my breath, knowing that I should have locked the damn thing I let go of her hand and stand up in front of her in time for him to come storming through the door.

"Tu ne pouves pas venire ici," I grumble, knowing before he even says it exactly what his comeback will be.

"Ne pas baiser une pute dans mon lit et je ne vais pas." I can't argue the point, so I don't. Instead I offer Becky my hand and feel her trembling fingers lace with mine against my thigh. "I came home to tell you something," he says directly to her. "I think you can understand why I kinda forgot, what with all the searing of my eyes when I saw Tanger's naked ass in the air," he adds and for some reason I know it's going to be alright when he says it. "It's your mom," he adds more seriously and in a softer, gentler tone. "I'd just walked you out to the taxi when your sister came looking for you. I'm sorry Becks. Your mom, she died."

* * *

It's almost too much to take in. I hadn't even wanted Max following me to the room but he'd been too hyper according to Sidney's wife, to hang out with the rest of the group in the maternity ward and I didn't want to leave the hospital without at least looking in on my mom. I'd had to tell him something, another lie, of course to explain why I hadn't at least said something to him about it before. I'd told him she'd been ill, which isn't so far from the truth. I just hadn't told him that she'd got uproariously drunk and then fell down.

I hadn't stayed long either. As soon as my sister showed up with her loser husband in tow, I made my excuses and Max had put me in a cab.

At least I'd seen her, I think to myself as Kris reaches over for my hand. I let him take it but only because I don't have the strength to take it back. I don't look over at him. I know if I do he'll have one of those puppy dog sympathetic looks on his face and I'll start to bawl and once I start, I have a feeling they'll have to tranquilize me to get me to stop.

"I didn't want to hurt him," I say out loud, and Kris snorts in response.

"You're thinking about _him_ right now? Vraiment?" I do glance at him then, because it's not like Kris to be unsympathetic.

"Don't you think we should talk about it?" I ask and he sighs as he returns his gaze to the road. "He is your friend and you do have to see him all the time. I think you're making a huge mistake." I know he'll object and I don't even listen to his argument as he does. Part of me, the little part of my heart that's still beating wants him to argue, but the rest of me...well, it just doesn't believe in fairytale happy endings and or that a man as handsome and as good as he is could possibly want to make any kind of sacrifice for a person like me. "I'm homeless," I add quietly, and Kris stops, mid argument, even mid-word and stares at me, open mouthed. "I am," I insist with a shrug. "When you think about it, I've really been squatting at Max's and then if I move in with you I'm really doing the same thing..."

"Don't...juste s'il vous plaît ne dis pas des choses comme ça." I open my mouth to object, to tell him I don't understand but as we come to a red light, he puts the car in park and turns to face me, reaching for my other hand. "This isn't just some...some guy thing, some fight over a girl and now that I've won...," I try to pull my hand away, to tell him that I'm not a pawn in his game of chess but he holds my hands even harder. So hard I can feel the bones in my hands disintegrating. "I've been thinking of you...of us being together... J'ai fait un rêve...I want to make a life with you Rebecca. That's all I want. So if I say that I want you to live with me, I'm saying that you are my home and... And I hope you feel the same about me."

* * *

"Mother and son are resting," Johnny grins as he comes out of the room, beaming, cigars bursting from his pockets. Everyone goes to congratulate him, everyone but me. Well me and, I guess, Tanger and Becks. I stand apart, the fun completely gone from the occasion for me.

"What's up?" Tabby asks, one eye on her husband and the cigar that Johnny's sticking in his mouth and one eye on me. "Where did you disappear to?"

"Did you know that Becky's mom was here?" I ask, watching Jordan trying to take a cigar away from Trina, who threatens to ram his where the son doesn't shine if he touches hers' again. Tabby shakes her head and her brow furrows as she tilts her head to look at me again.

"No...why?"

"She wanted to see her. I didn't even know she was sick. She never said anything," I shrug, wanting to laugh as Flower sticks two cigars up his nose and makes a barking sound. I guess he thinks walruses make seal noises. Maybe they do. "He did though. He knew. She told him but she didn't tell me."

"Tanger?" Tabby guesses without my having to tell her and when I nod, she closes her eyes and shakes her head. "I'm sorry Max. I should have known..."

"You knew?" I feel like I should be angry, but sort of like how Becky didn't cry I can't manage to stir up any indignation at the thought that somehow I've ended up being the last to know that my girlfriend...or at least the woman I thought was my girlfriend has been seeing my best friend.

"Well...let's just say that I knew that Kris had feelings for her but...I wasn't sure she felt the same." I feel Tabby's hand on my arm and I know it's supposed to be comforting but it just makes me realize how alone I am and so I push her hand away, gently. "Max...?" she looks at me, her eyes narrowed, her mouth pursed and it's that look she gives Sid sometimes when she thinks he's keeping something from her, which is usually no more than he has some photo shoot that means he's going to miss dinner or something, nothing like this.

"I went home to find her...her sister came looking for her...her mom died," I explain. Maybe because I think I have to or maybe to delay the inevitable.

"Oh that's so sad. Is Becky o..." Tabby's voice drops away and then I feel her hands on my arms as she tries to get me to look at her. I don't want to look at her. I don't want to look at anyone. I'm the fucking super stud who just found his girlfriend in bed with another man. How can I look at anyone again? "Max! What's going on? You just said you didn't even know the woman was sick so...?" she gives me a little shake but I still can't look at her. I guess I think she'll laugh even though I know Tabby's better than that, that she won't see it as my failing. She'll probably even be totally on my side but I still don't want to say it.

"They were in bed together when I got home." I have to look at her, to see if she knows who I mean and I can tell by how wide her eyes get that she does. "They were in my bed. They did it...in my bed."

"Oh...oh fuck Max." I feel her arms around me and it feels like a mom hugging me, like she's kissing the boo boo better, only I keep thinking it should hurt worse, but all I feel is...empty.

* * *

The room is empty, or almost empty. The bed has been stripped and there are two orderlies taking her mother away on a gurney, under a sheet. I stop them but though she tries, once, twice, Rebecca can't make herself lift the sheet.

"You don't have to," I tell her, putting my hands on her shoulders and drawing her back against the safety of my body. She's stiff, like a board and it's a struggle to pull her against me, but I do it anyway.

"I need to know," she whispers and I watch her hand go out for a third time, shaking the last leaf in fall during a wind storm. It seems to take five minutes but she finally raises the sheet and looks down at her mother's drawn, pale face. Her eyes are closed and the only thing that hints that she's not just sleeping, is her blue lips. "Ding, dong the witch is dead."

The orderly looks up, scandalized. His eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open but Becky just grins at him and then drops the sheet.

"You can take her now. She's in whatever corner of hell is reserved for sad creatures like her." Maybe I'm a little shocked too but I keep my opinions to myself. She wasn't my mother. I didn't have to grow up with her. We watch them wheel the gurney away and then Becky breathes a long, heavy sigh of relief. "I can't promise I won't be like her," she says quietly, almost under her breath as she leans into me, feeling relaxed for maybe the very first time.

"You're already nothing like her, mon ange," I tell her, brushing her temple with my lips. "You're you, you're Rebecca, la femme que j'aime."

"Was that...that was your mother?" We both turn to see a young nurse standing nearby, a handful of photos in one hand and a stuffed bear in the other. Rebecca nods and turns her gaze back to the hallway, from which the orderlies and her mother's body have disappeared. "You were here before, right? But...you were with...," she looks at me and then looks quickly away. It's a mannerism I recognize. It means she recognizes me but is trying for cool. "You were with someone else."

"I was," Rebecca says coolly, reaching up to lay her fingers against mine where they're still on my shoulder.

"And that was...it was Max Talbot...right?" the girl says, looking up at me from beneath her lashes and a curly red bangs. She blushes bright red beneath a myriad of freckles that cover her nose and round cheeks.

"Mmm," Becky replies dispassionately. "And this is Kristopher Letang and you are?"

"Oh I'm no one," the nurse blushes even more deeply and looks away. "I just...well I'm a fan," she admits, looking up at me and I nearly open my mouth to ask her if she's seriously going to ask for an autograph when she knows damn well Rebecca's mother has just been wheeled away. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she adds quickly, regaining some of her composure and straightening her shoulders. "And these were your mother's," she adds, holding the bear and the photos out. Becky starts to refuse, but I hold the hand out that she isn't holding and take the items. She might want them later. "I met Max once," she says, mostly to me, and in the sort of tone that says she doesn't want to be considered one of those girls who giggles and wiggles. "You guys were here for a charity visit or something but he took all this time with this little girl with leukemia and...I just thought he was amazing. I just...I thought if he was here, again, I could tell him. I didn't get the chance earlier."

"He's upstairs," Rebecca says before I get the chance, "in maternity. One of our friends...one of his friends just had a kid," she adds, and when I look down she's wearing the barest hint of a smile. "You should tell him, really. I think he'd really appreciate that."


	21. Chapter 21

_When I cry, I close my eyes  
And every tear falls down inside  
And I pray with all my might  
That I will find my heart in someone's arms  
When I cry, cry  
When I cry, when I am sad  
I think of every awful thing I ever did  
When I cry, there is no love  
No, there is nothing that can comfort me enough  
When I cry_

(lyrics to "Hanging by a Thread" by Jann Arden)

**Chapter 21**

"Penny for your thoughts?" I'd woken up in the middle of the night to find the space in the bed next to me empty and cold. It hadn't taken long to find her, sitting in one of the oversized leather chairs in my living room, one of my mother's home made afghans wrapped around her, staring into the dark. She didn't react to my presence, didn't look up at me as I slid onto the arm of the chair, waiting for her to make room for me to slide down onto the cold leather with her. Instead, I reached over and brushed her hair away from her face and ran my thumb along the sharp line of her cheekbone. "Mon ange, it's cold, come back to bed." Summer was gone and the cool fall air chilled my skin. Even under that afghan, she was only wearing one of my t-shirts. She had to be cold.

She turned and looked up at me and even in the dark I could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. It made me feel guilty and it made me feel selfish but mostly it made me feel inadequate. I couldn't bring her mother back and I couldn't turn back the clock and give her the time to say goodbye. I couldn't take back that we'd been making love while her mother took her last breath. I wanted to make her feel less guilty but I didn't even know how to do that. The only thing I could do was be here, to try and be man enough to be here for her now.

She leaned into my hand, the soft round of her cheek fitting perfectly into the palm of my hand, and closed her eyes. I tracked the silver trail of a tear down her cheek with my eyes and knew that I was at least partly responsible for it being there.

"Come to bed," I plead again but she doesn't make a move, even when I stand up and reach for her hand, intending to pull her up to her feet and make her come with me.

"There's something…something you should know." Her voice is strangled, small and hurt sounding. Her eyes are still closed and her hand is limp in mine. I feel my heart constrict hard in my chest. '_She's going to tell me she doesn't love me_', I think as I take a knee in front of her, telling myself I can take it, that maybe she won't really mean it, that it's only the emotion of the moment, the deep dark hours of the morning that is going to make her say it.

"What is it?" I keep her hand in both of mine and wait, steeling myself like I do when I know that I'm about to pounded in the boards by some goon like Boogard, knowing it's going to hurt but if I get close enough to the boards that they'll take some of the blow. There are no boards now. There's nothing to take the sting out of whatever words she's about to speak.

She finally opens her eyes and looks at me and my chest get tight. She looks so sad and so afraid at the same time that she reminds me of a child, about to tell some truth that she knows is going to result in her getting a beating. One day I'll ask her about her past, if anyone ever raised a hand to her. Not tonight though. Tonight I'll just listen to whatever she has to say and then I'll deal with it.

"I'm pregnant," she says after a long pause and then she tries to pull her hand free from mine, but I won't let her. Her eyes are too wide. She looks like a startled doe. She looks like she expects me to yell, maybe to hit her. I hate that she thinks I'd ever do either of those things.

She watches me like a dog in a cage, like a pound dog does from behind bars. Like maybe you're just as bad as the last person who owned her. Like maybe you'll hurt them but then maybe not. There's hope in her eyes too. Hope that I'll do and say the right thing and I want to fulfill that wish.

"It's…is it Max's?" I ask, a heavy feeling in my gut wanting it not to be true but knowing that even if it is, I will somehow deal with it. I don't know how, not yet, but I will, at least that's what I tell myself. I'll figure out the rest later.

"No," she replies simply, her gaze holding mine, still with that same guarded expression in her eyes. "It can't be," she adds more firmly. "It's maybe…maybe six weeks and he's been gone…."

"Eight," I reply quietly, doing the math quickly in my head. "So…it's…?" Shit! It's impossible to say it out loud. My blood is rushing in my veins, my heart hammering so loud in my ears that I can't think. I'm glad I'm on my knees or they'd have given out on me. She nods and bites down on her bottom lip, still watching me, still waiting for me to react. '_Can't she hear my heart beating_?' I think, but can't make my mouth form the words. I press her hand to my chest instead and press my forehead to her thigh. "Thank you," I mumble into her soft, cool skin. "Merci mon ange."

There is a long silence, and then I feel her hand, her fingers cool against my skin as she raises my face and stares down into my eyes, surprised yes and confused.

"You're not…you don't think I'm trying to capture you? Control you?" she asks, blinking rapidly and it's my turn to fit my cheek into her hand but I smile up at her, a stupid, far too happy grin.

"Tie me down, mon ange, s'il vous plait. I want to be captured by you, forever."

* * *

Telling Kris had turned out to be easy, far easier than I'd suspected after I'd made up my mind in the middle of the night that, if he wanted it, I wanted to keep the baby. He does. He wants it and he wants me and as he holds me in his arms, he tells me what our future will hold. More babies, a big family. Summers in Montreal, with his family, his friends, a big welcoming family that he promises will not only accept me, but love me as much, maybe more, than he does.

He has names picked out; Geneviève for a girl and Antoine if it's a boy.

We'll marry, as soon as possible, maybe in Mario's back yard. Or just at the town hall if that's all I want. We can always have another ceremony, later, during the summer, with everyone, with the baby too.

"You make it sound so easy," I whisper, my cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart, feeling it beat under the palm of my hand.

"It is, il est facile parce que je t'aime." His fingers lace with mine and I watch our fingers fit together and they look like they should, like his hand is meant to hold mine.

"It seems too easy," I sigh, closing my eyes again, reveling in the warmth of his skin and of the nearness of him.

"It won't be," he says more seriously, his arm that's been resting around my back presses me close to the solid lengths of his body. "Passion is easy. Love takes years to pull off." I turn to look up at him and he smiles at the ceiling. "I don't remember where I heard that but I think it must be true, ne penses pas?" I nod and then dig my chin into his chest, looking up him, at his full bottom lip, his dark eyes, the hair that's always falling onto his forehead. "We'll make it work though," he promises quietly, his hand travelling up my back until his fingers brush the nape of my neck, making me shiver. "Je vais tu faire plaisir, je tu promets." His voice brushes against my skin, soft like velvet and smooth like melted chocolate and his serious gaze draws me to him like a magnet. I slide my body up and he slides his down and our mouths meet somewhere in the middle.

I feel his hand on my cheek, sliding up into my hair as he his tongue caresses mine, rolling over it, brushing against it. His other hand slides down my back and onto my ass, pulling me up over him until I'm straddling him and our bodies are pressed tightly together and there's nowhere for his rock hard erection to go as my stomach presses against it.

He holds my mouth to his, his lips soft but forceful, his fingers splayed across the back of my head as if I might want to be doing anything but this, kissing him, touching him. His other hand works its' way down over my ass and works his cock free until he can angle it up into me, and I press my body down over it, sheathing him inside of me.

"Mon dieu!" he groans against my collarbone as I arch my back, pressing him down into the mattress, using his shoulders to push myself up and press myself down all at the same time. I don't want to move. I want to stay, like this, with him filling me, his lips and tongue on my neck, his arms locked around my shoulders and our bodies pressed tightly together. "Mon dieu, tu me défaire," he hisses into my jaw, his teeth digging into the thin skin just below my ear.

I'm not good at the sweet words like he is. I don't know if it's a French thing or if it's just Kristopher, but I wish I had the poetic words to say back to him about the way this makes me feel; safe and wanted and needed. Max wanted me, but I don't think he needed me.

I need Kris. I know that much.

"Never let me go," I plead as he pushes himself up into me, our bodies barely moving and yet I can feel myself falling already, and now I know the difference. This is what it's like when you love someone, when your body fits so perfectly and the emotions overwhelm everything else. This is making love.

"Je tu promets que je ne te quitterai jammais," he promises, his tongue sweeping around my ear as he presses my ass down and pushes up into me at the same time.

At this angle, the head of his cock hit the spot inside of me every time, ripping the air from my lungs, making it impossible to breathe and I don't want to breathe. I don't want to think. I don't want to do anything but this. I want him inside of me and I want to be in his arms, forever.

"Love me forever," I gasp, knowing that I'm about to lose the fight, feeling that clenching at the base of my spine, that tightening in my stomach that's a warning sign for impending fireworks.

"Pour toujours," he whispers back and then grunts and pushes up into me and I let go, sobbing his name as he jettisons himself inside of me, groaning my name in return.

* * *

"Saint-ciboire du saint sacrement!" I dip my head into the icy stream of water and let it pour over the back of my neck. Squeezing my eyes tight, I let out a couple more choice epithets before shutting the water off and shaking like a Lab puppy crawling out of a pond. "So was that what you two were doing in my bed? Celebrating?"

"It wasn't like that and you know it," Becky says quietly from where she's leaning against the kitchen counter looking bored with my dramatics.

"No? Tell me what it was like then," I snap back at her, reaching for a tea towel and rubbing it across my head.

"I've apologized Max, and I'm sorry I hurt you…that we hurt you, but if you're just going to be an ass then I'm going to go back next door and leave you in your shitty diaper." The glance she affords me is full of disappointment mixed with a liberal dose of hostility at this point. Well, she did fuck my best friend in my bed, I'm not just going to roll over and let her think she's gotten away with it am I?

"Well if you knew that you were pregnant, then why did you let me think it was going to work between us? Why did you stay here with me in my bed? Why didn't you just go over there while I was gone?" At first she just shrugs and then she heaves a heavy sigh, uncrosses her arms from in front of the Birthday Massacre tour t-shirt that's artfully torn at the neck so that it bares one of her ivory shoulders and the lipstick red bra strap that belongs to that black and red lace number that I bought her. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound.

"I wasn't sure, about the pregnancy and I didn't think I was going to keep it. I didn't intend to have anything to do with him, that's the honest truth," she adds with a long look at me that ends in another one of those shrugs that makes the t-shirt fall further down until I have to go over and straighten it or end up looking at her tits and that really would be rubbing salt in the wound.

"Are you sure it's his?" I ask quietly as my hands slide over her smooth flesh. She lets me straighten her shirt or at least doesn't make a move to stop me.

"I am, yeah," she says quietly, her dark eyes looking into mine and I feel my heart breaking all over again. I want to tell her I couldn't sleep without her last night and that I tossed and turned and seriously thought about holding a pillow over my head and just letting the world go. "I am sorry Max. I know that…well I know you want to be a dad."

"Yeah well, I could be now, we don't know right? I mean toutes les belles dames que j'ai eu dans mon lit." Becky looks unimpressed and manages to look like she pities me, all at the same time. I still want to kiss her though, even with pity in her eyes. "There's lots of fish in the sea right?" I add, not that it helps my cause and Becky sees right through it, like I knew she would. She smiles sadly and grabs my face in her hands and presses her full lips onto mine in a soft, too brief kiss.

"You will be fine, mon ami, because you're a good man, and a sweet man and some woman will be very lucky to have you. It just turns out that it's not me." Giving up my boy wonder routine, I smile and open my arms to her and she walks into them and presses her cheek against my shoulder and hugs me hard. "Thank you for not being a total ass."

"I'll probably be an ass yet," I promise into her hair and I feel her body tremble in my arms and I know she's laughing even though she isn't making a sound. We stay like that for a long minute, maybe more and part of me is memorizing the feel of her in my arms, knowing how much I've missed it already and how much I'll miss it when she goes. "Congratulations," I tell her finally, as she unravels herself from my arms and takes a step towards the hall, like she's going to leave. "I know you're probably shitting a brick but…you'll be fine, especially with Kris. He's kind of a vain fuck but…he's a good guy."

"I'm glad you think so," she smiles, a genuine smile that, while it's small and doesn't really reach her eyes is still better than her leaving still thinking I'm a sad, pathetic fuck.

"I don't have to like him and I may still kick his ass at the rink but…if it can't be me…I guess he's better than that ugly fucker TK," I add with a smirk that makes her shake her head.

"This isn't all _his_ fault, Max. It's not anyone's fault. I'd like it if you two were friends again." I must be making a face because she sighs and shrugs her shoulders and then she turns to go.

"That might take a while," I say to her retreating form and she nods and turns back to give me another sad smile before I watch her walk out of my house, and out of my life.


	22. Chapter 22

_Finally I'm worth it, though I'm not perfect  
It still feels right, and I keep on giving  
Trying to make a difference, in my life  
But I know another way to show  
Everything I can be for You  
You're all that I'll ever need  
I'll give you the Best of Me_

(lyrics from "Best of Me" from The Letter Black)

**Chapter 22**

Everyone went, the day of Rebecca's mother's funeral. Max had insisted. Every single member of the team showed up in black suits with black ties. It was quite a display and I didn't even mind if it was more for Max than it was for her and it was probably a good thing that they had come too, as besides Becca, there was only her sister and her family and a couple of old biddies from the trailer park and I'm pretty sure they'd just been there for the free tea and cake afterwards.

Rebecca still hadn't cried, but after what she'd told me about her mother, I wasn't that surprised. She sat, still as a marble statue, through the entire service. She even managed to clench her teeth through her sister's hysterical sobbing as the plain wooden casket slid into the crematorium through a sliding door.

It was only when Max reached for her hand that she broke down. I knew, we probably all knew, that her tears in that moment were less for her mother than for herself and for him, but no one was about to say anything about it. I let her hand go so he could hug her and I even managed to thank him, albeit silently, as he gave me that look over her shoulder that clearly said that this was for her and that it wasn't about anything else.

I didn't need to be told. I'm not worried about losing her. Not now.

"You? You're going to give up your beauty sleep to do midnight feedings and change diapers?" Jordan laughs as he says it, but quietly. This isn't really the place for laughing, but it does seem like the place to share some good news.

"I am, apparently," I reply, sharing a look with Becca that makes my heart skip a beat and my stomach do a salsa move.

"Are you sure?" Sidney hisses into my ear with a wary look towards where his wife and just a spattering of the other Wags, a select few, are helping with the tea and pastries. Becca hadn't accepted mine or anyone else's help with the casket or the funeral expenses but Sid had arranged for the cars and his wife had arranged for the food. I guess that's just another day in the life of being the Captain of the Pens. "I mean, you know…," Sid adds with a roll of his eyes towards where Max is standing alone, eating a cream horn.

"She's sure," I reply with a smile I can't quite seem to force off of my face. "That's good enough for me." I think about adding that I hope it's good enough for them too, but I decide against it. Their being here, in force, and Max with them tells me that whatever our differences are now, it's all going to be okay in the future.

"Does he know?" Flower asks, appearing at my side with a plate of Mel's homemade chocolate chip and smartie cookies. She and Jonny are the only ones not here, for obvious reasons. I'm surprised that she found time to bake with Brent Jr. howling all night. Apparently he has quite the set of lungs on him and I'm a little surprised to find that that thought doesn't scare me in the least.

"She told him," I reply quietly, looking over at Max who is watching her with a sort of blank look on his face. I wish he'd talk to me. I wish I knew what that apparently bland expression is hiding but I know I don't have the right to ask. "I think that was actually the worst part," I admit, though I wasn't there. She wanted to do that part on her own but she did tell me that he cried.

"Max will be a great dad, someday," Tabby says, appearing at her husband's side and slipping her arm into his, leaning her body into his like they belong like that. It's like they've had a magnet implanted that pulls them together all the time. They look like they belong like that. "In his bed Tanger, really?" she adds and I roll my eyes and sigh. I've been waiting for this.

"I know, my bad, je suis vraiment désolé, but you know what it's like. I don't have to tell you what being in love does to your brain, raison?" I can see when my Captain tries to hide a smile, and he doesn't do it well. Sid sucks at poker. Even his wife, when she glances at him rolls her eyes and smiles.

"You can't even give him hell about that?" she sighs and digs her elbow into his ribs. It only makes him giggle like a school girl though.

"Hey, I almost caught my death running through the rain to be with you, remember?" he reminds her and it's her turn to blush. "Besides, Max has done some pretty outrageous shit in his time. I think he can get a new bed and go from there if he wants," Sid adds, smiling down at his wife and for once I don't feel so left out of the whole lovey dovey couple scene. I just have to look over at where Becca is standing with Michelle Cooke and Vero to know that I have one of those magnets now. It might not be quite as strong as what Sid and Tabby have, but I'm pretty sure it'll get there.

* * *

"Your sister didn't stay long," the wife of the Pens resident agitator noted as she poured me a cup of tea into a real china cup with its' own little plate beneath it. I took the cup carefully from her hands and inhaled the rich scent of well steeped real leaf tea.

"Well this is pretty unexpected," I reply with a glance around at all of Kris and Max's teammates in their smart suits. "I think she was a little overwhelmed. I know I am."

"We hang together," Vero tells me, her hand on my arm. "No matter who you're with," she adds more quietly, with a quick glance towards where Max is standing off by himself.

"Every time I look at him I feel like I'm pulling on a thread that's unravelling his entire life," I admit, turning my attention back to the tea leaves at the bottom of my cup. "I can't understand why he would do this for me after what I did to him."

"Not to be mean but neither do I," Michelle says simply and even though it does hurt, I know that I haven't got a leg to stand on.

"She can't help how her heart feels," Vero hisses at the blonde bombshell who only raises her eyebrows and says nothing. "I know you can't and Kris is...well he's a great guy."

"I know." I afford myself a glance towards Kris who is standing in a group of his teammates, in a dark blue suit that has sheen to it, his long dark hair styled for once. He looks like a cover model for Sharp magazine or Cigar Aficionado, gorgeous and stylish. "I keep feeling like I need to pinch myself," I admit, my heart fluttering like a caged bird in my chest. "Not that I _never_ felt that way about Max," I add quickly, sending a quick glance towards Max. My heart aches when I look at him now, it doesn't pound.

"He'll get over it," Vero promises and I know it's true but it doesn't alter my guilt.

"But will he forgive me? And what about Kris?" I ask, looking back at him.

"Honey, he did all this for you," Michelle points out, as if I need telling. "I think if he hasn't forgiven you, he's at least trying to." Max's gaze finally meets mine and a resigned sort of half smile spreads across his lips though his eyes still hold the pain I put there. Handing my still full cup to Veronique, I glance quickly towards Kris who gives me an understanding and encouraging smile, and then I turn and head towards Max.

"You okay?" he asks me, our fingers tangling together, just as easily and effortlessly they always have.

"I should be asking you that," I smile and just a little of the pain leaks out of his gaze.

"Oh, I think I'll live," he says with a crooked smile. "What about you though, everything...okay?" he asks, looking down at my mid section. I know what he's thinking. He doesn't need to say it. There's been hardly anything else on my mind the last few days.

"Yeah, okay," I reply, my free hand sliding to my stomach. It's still a very foreign feeling, the idea that I'm going to keep it after all, that I , of all people, will be a mother.

"Good, I'm glad," he says and squeezes my hand before letting it go. I'd believe him, except for the disappointment clear in his eyes and in the way he swallows as he suddenly shifts his gaze to where Kris is still standing with Sid, Tabby and Jordan. Kris lifts his chin in a sort of silent hello and Max nods once. It's more than I'd hoped for and I take it as a good sign.

"Look…I haven't even talked to him about this and it's probably too soon to even think about anything like this yet but...would you be the godfather to…to whatever it turns out to be?" I think Kris would approve, would probably agree with the idea, especially if it means that they stop the grade school stare downs.

"You know I'd be...," he begins before his attention is stolen by a small freckle faced flame haired bundle of energy. I look from the stranger bearing a potted mum and back to Max, who blushes but doesn't return my quizzical gaze.

"I'm sorry, I missed everything didn't I? My mom always says that I have never, ever been on time for anything, not even my own birth!" The woman I recognize as the nurse from the other day busts right past Kris and Sidney like they're no one and heads straight for where Max and I are standing. "There was this car accident with like, ten victims and everyone needed stitches and I don't even work in the ER but it was like, all hands on deck so I was there like making sutcher trays and cleaning out wounds and there was this kid running around because his mother had a laceration on her...oh...I'm doing it aren't I? I'm just blabbering on. I do that, I'm so sorry." I can't help at grin at her, especially when I catch the flabbergasted expression on Max's face.

"There really wasn't much to see," I tell her quietly and she beams up at me like I've handed her a lollipop and patted her on the head. "You didn't really miss much at all."

"I'm glad. I mean, I'm not glad because I'm sure this was like, ridiculously difficult for you, what with it being for your mom and all but I'm glad that you seem to be taking it well. These are for you," she presses the potted plant into my hands and then sort of hugs me around them. "I'm sorry for your loss," she adds and then turns to Max. "The kids just loved seeing you the other day. They have not stopped talking about it. I was so glad that you could come."

"Uh...yeah, well, me and kids, we're great," Max says in his golly gee shucks sort of way and bathes her in his '_I'm Max Talbot and you will find me devastatingly handsome_' grin and she, in turn, looks up at him like he's just been dropped down from heaven just for her. "Lucy right?" he asks, and impossibly her grin gets wider, but so does his.

"I think we should give them some space hmmm?" I lean back into the strong, heavily muscled body that presses up against me and close my eyes, just for a moment as his scent fills my head. I'd always liked the smell of Hugo Boss on him but ever since I've been pregnant it just sort of...does things to me.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" I ask as Kris turns to lead me away.

"I think we'll all be fine," he whispers in my ear. "Just fine."

_~Fin~_


End file.
