Chapter 125: Cheli II—Pain
Chelios had chugged a bottle of whiskey and fallen fast asleep on Sunday night. It was the only way he knew he wouldn’t dream, and then wake up yelling in a rage, covered in sweat. Perhaps he still dreamt while in drunken daze but the important thing was that he didn’t remember it when he woke up. Sometimes the scar on his throat would be angry and throbbing red when he would go into the bathroom after waking, and he would see himself in the mirror after splashing water on his face.
It hadn’t always been like this; in fact it had never been like this for him. There were things that had to be done things that were unavoidable. He had come into the league quite aware of the single, animal unit a team was. He had been ecstatic about it, quite ready to serve that unit, to become a part of that family. There was equilibrium to be maintained, and there was an image to portray. Above all, there was the game.
Growing up a strict Catholic, it was hard for Chris not to see the game as something spiritual. He had always felt somehow more special than the other boys when they scraped away at the puck on choppy ice in over frozen arenas with shitty gear. He saw the beauty and power in how tired his legs would become under heavy goal pads and the sheer brilliance of the sound when the stick struck the puck. And when the brilliance of the ice blinded him, well that was spiritual too.
There was a more refined spiritual unit at work in the major leagues, he could see it on TV and when he finally entered the league, he was desperate to belong. He wanted nothing more to please the unit. All one had to do, was follow the rules. All one had to do, was be a brother. All one had to do was realize that nothing needed to be changed. It was simple enough to see, wasn’t it? The Code was an essential part of this and even that wasn’t entirely defined. It was a Code of brotherhood, of trust, of respect, of hierarchy, and yes of course it was a Code of silence. Why would anyone expect a woman to understand this? It was something every man felt within himself, this Code. It wasn’t designed for a woman to feel or understand.
Of course this was all her fault? And why couldn’t she see that? She wouldn’t see that was probably the case nowadays. The Code was also about respecting the veterans and she had caused Patrick to break it so flagrantly. Chris couldn’t help but think of her as Eve, tempting her husband to the forbidden and the rending her hair in sorrows after what she had done.
Why couldn’t she have just remained with the other women? God knows Tracee had tried to bring her into the fold early on, the way it should have been. The women didn’t belong near them on their roadtrips, and for fuck’s sake not in the Forum locker room!
All of this Chelios had held within his brain for years. It had kept him focused and for a great part of the time, completely erased of any pain or guilt. But now it was hurting him. His brain was hurting. His sleep was hurting and now his wife was hurting. And she shouldn’t hurt when she had stayed by his side all of these years, bore his children, bore his absences and bore his mistakes within their marriage. She should be rewarded, not worried sick about his raging screams in the night.
"Goddammit!" he hissed to himself before he finally dozed off, the empty whisky bottle dropping from his hand and onto the hotel room carpet. "Why the fuck wouldn’t she want that bracelet back!"
"Wake up Bud," he heard the whisper in his ear, felt the light patting of a palm on his cheek. "Cheli come on!"
Chelios opened his eyes and was greeted with Kirk’s stupid face almost touching his own, large blue eyes blinking at him so close he could feel the lashes. Chelios belched and growled, pushing Kirk back. "Goddammit get off me you freak!"
Kirk staggered back on the carpet and he sniffed. "Look, Cheli I let ya sleep in some but we have a practice in two hours."
Pain suddenly hammered Chris from all points throbbing and burning especially in his head, his eyes... and his right leg? "Ugh!" he groaned sitting up and dropping his face into his hands. "Malt close the curtains, it’s bad enough I can’t breathe in this friggin climate that I can’t see from the stupid, bright sun."
"You’re just hung over Cheli," Maltby replied as he strolled to the curtains and closed them, encasing the room in blissful dimness.
"I am not!" Chelios snapped and felt nauseated.
"Are too!" Malt insisted. "You chugged down a shitload of hard liquor last night. Look I let ya sleep in but now you gotta snap outta it."
Chris yawned. "Coffee, get me some coffee."
"Nope," Kirk said brightly and Chris scowled.
"Kirk I’m in no mood!" he snapped.
"Hey, hey, heeeeey," Kirk answered still so damn bright and chipper. "Look Cheli I’m only looking for your best interests here. Now it’s a published finding, DOCUMENTED, that coffee is the worst thing for a hang over. You’re hung over cause of fluid deficiency so we need to "replenish" ya. Coffee will only.... de-plenish you. Not good."
Chelios squinted. "De-plenish?"
"Yeah!" Malt said with an almost dazzling grin, "De-plenish look it up! Anyway, I ordered room service and got you, a pitcher of tepid water, cause cold will only shock your palate, juice cause we all need the fiber and some warm oatmeal with cinnamon sticks." Kirk rubbed his hand over his belly. "And whooo doesn’t like oatmeal? Hmmm?"
"Kirk, I need coffee you asshole!" Chelios growled, missing his old roommate very acutely. The kid that didn’t speak much English, now they had great conversations!
"Hey I’m only trying to be...."
"A pain in my ASS!" Chris snapped "Now get outta my sight!"
Kirk sighed and rolled the breakfast cart to him and sat down on the bed. Kirk whistled as he poured the water into a glass and then he handed it to Chris. Chelios sighed and drank the entire glass. The oatmeal smelled fragrant and cinnamony too....
"Christ!" Chris snapped as he tried to flex his leg stepping into the shower. It hurt too much to even lift it over the side of the bathtub. Groaning he leaned over and looked at it. "Stupid BITCH!" he snarled. There was a large round bruise on his shin in the spot where Michele had kicked him. This would be priceless to explain. He had to get over the pain of this one quickly. There was no excuse for missing tonight’s game.
"You OK?" Malt asked when Chris hobbled out of the bathroom, clean shaved and clothed.
"Sure," Chelios replied wincing.
"She’s really under your skin!" Malt said in awe struck voice.
"Shut-up about her," Chris sighed trying to rein in his temper.
Maltby nodded and Chris could feel the silence weighing in on his skin. He wondered if Malt knew that Michele had left a red hand splotch on his cheek where she had slapped him.
"How long have you two beeeen...."
"Malt!" Chris bellowed. "Please!!"
Maltby held up his hands. "OK, OK, I see it now. Something really important happened it’s none of my business you still wanna keep it special..."
"MALT!"
Maltby held up his hands and they began to leave to hotel room. As they were sitting in the cab on the way to the practice arena, Chris knew the silence had been way too good to be true.
"Hey Cheli," Maltby said in a quiet voice. "You were talking in your sleep last night."
Chris sighed, "And what did I say."
"You French bitch I’m only trying to help," Malt said giving Cheli goosebumps. "That was weirder than the stuff you said about the cat. Mean anything to you?"
"Nope," Chelios said, leaving it at that.
"You could really use some more folic acid in your diet," Malt said. "And B-12, I have some in my bag, remind me to get it to you. You’ll thank me for it!"
Chris thumped his forehead on the cab window and sighed. He still had the scent of her in his nostrils, a friggin annoying thing to carry around in the head. It was PAIN!
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