Time froze in that instant. I watched the puck fly towards the empty net, our empty net. It would be the clincher, the backbreaker, the guarantee that there was no way we were coming back this time. And then, it hit the back of the net.
And the moment it did, I could feel again. And suddenly my muscles ached with fatigue, built up fatigue from playing so damn hard for so long. And my shoulder ached, an injury from a couple of rounds ago. The twinge in my ribs hurt with each breath suddenly, they'd taken enough sticks, elbows, shoulder, and hell, knees, to be permanently bruised. The knot on the back of my head screamed at me. And I felt like I wanted to collapse.
I focused on Brendan Shanahan and Steve Yzerman rolling around on the ice, so happy, and I almost cried with the devastation. In that moment, I seriously felt like I would never be happy again, never feel that jubilation.
I can't remember the last thirty seconds of the game, just the heartbreaking, overwhelming sense of loss that encompassed me. Professional athletes are competitive people. Losing isn't easy for any of us, and to fight so hard and still lose just makes it all that much worse. Knowing that we weren't supposed to win a game and that we played them so closely might make me feel better later, but it won't help now.
To my surprise, the handshake line does help. I guess there's something about having one of the greatest Captains ever squeeze your hand and say, "Head up, kid, you were great," that can lift your spirits a little. And then for Chris Chelios, who I was so nervous about playing against I threw up, to tell me I had a great series and that I'd better not change how I play at all and I was at least looking at people instead of staring at their skates.
Which gave me more time to worry about Batesy, since I'd lightened off on feeling sorry for myself. He was...well, so very quiet. He, except for perhaps Archie and Ronnie, was blaming himself most for the turnout. He still felt like the Larionov goal was his fault. He still thought he should've scored earlier in Game 3. He thought he should've scored in Game 4. He couldn't believe he'd missed the chance in this game. And I know he was seeing them all and thinking that if any one had been a goal, we would've won that game.
And as soon as we were in the locker room, free from the reporters who'd flocked to the Red Wings side, my arms were around him, hugging him tight. "Erik," he whispered brokenly into my neck, and I could feel the dampness of his tears. "My fault...God, I screwed up so many times..."
"No, come on Batesy, you know that's not true..."
"It is, though. I sucked. I couldn't do anything right. Paul should've benched me a long time ago."
What do you say to that? I didn't say anything, perfectly content to just keep him there in my arms. "I wasn't any better," I finally muttered.
"You were," he muttered back, his face still hidden in my neck. "You were awesome. Wonderful rookie."
Great, now he wasn't making any sense at all. I patted his head and released him, rummaging through my bag for the issue of ESPN the Magazine with the Wings on the cover. I tossed it at him. "See? They're like the greatest team ever. Losing to them is NOT a disgrace. It sucks a lot, but it's nothing to be ashamed of."
He looked down at the magazine in his lap and then up at me and smiled a little. I smiled back, then sat down to take my skates off.
It was kind of a nice moment, though. Just before Paul came in to talk to us, when it was still just the team. We were close, and we were all feeling this together just like we'd celebrated together in the first three rounds. The sense of camaraderie on a team such as this is something you don't forget and always appreciate. "Aw, Erik, your boyfriend looks really sad. He'll need make-up sex to make him feel better," commented Kevyn Adams, smirking though his eyes were red. Bates stuck his leg out and Kevyn tripped, just managing to catch himself before falling on his face. Well, sometimes you appreciate the camaraderie.
I kind of zoned out during Ronnie's talk - I mean, captains always have to say the same thing. Though I think he almost apologized for hitting the post in Game 4. Paul was quick and made about 3 jokes just to remind us all why we love him. And Archie made himself and about half the rest of the team cry while he talked about how much he loved playing with us. I've decided he's the coolest goalie ever. And too soon, it was time to go. Time to leave the locker room after the last game of the season. It's a nostalgic feeling.
I slept on the plane, from takeoff to landing. I think that the adrenaline in my body was switched to off for the first time in weeks and it's taking its toll. Physically and mentally. I'm exhausted and I hurt. The crowd at the airport woke us up quickly, though. It was the loudest crowd yet, they chanted and cheered and every single person I signed for told me I played great and they loved the maneuver with Hasek's goalie stick. And Paul, last off the plane, mentioned that he hoped to see them all next year around the same time and I think security got a little annoyed with the "Hurricanes" chant. The ones that weren't joining in, that is.
John was asleep on the couch when we came in, but Bates noted that he'd taped the game and all the post-game coverage on ABC and Fox Sports Detroit. I don't think either of us want to watch it anytime soon, but maybe in a few days. Leaving John asleep - because nothing short of a nuclear blast will wake him - we went upstairs. I think we stood there and looked at each other for about five minutes before Batesy pulled off my shirt and pushed me into the bathroom. "What are you doing?" I asked him as he opened the cabinet door.
"Shaving you," he replied. "I'm sick of that damn beard."
Almost laughing, I sat on the counter and let him. It was kind of sensual, really. Once he was finished, he leaned against me, between my legs, and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed back, kind of liking my lack of a beard as much as he obviously was. "Much better," I murmured as we broke apart, and he nodded in agreement.
"I'm sorry, Erik. For letting you down."
The moron just will not quit blaming himself. "You didn't."
"I didn't produce at all."
"So? Neither did I. Jesus, Bates, I don't need offensive production from you to love you."
"I know...I just feel like I let you down. And the team."
"I don't feel that way and neither do they."
"Maybe they should."
I didn't want to argue with him, not now. "Sh. How 'bout we talk about this tomorrow?"
The corner of his mouth turned up, and his hand traced down my bare chest. I couldn't control my shiver. "Ok," he whispered.
I slid off the counter to press fully against him and kissed him solidly, loving the feel of my fingers entangled in his hair. I never get tired of it, even after three quarters of a season. I hope it lasts the rest of my life. I got him out of his clothes easily, and he finished undressing me as he pulled me back into the bedroom.
Not unlike the flight of Brendan Shanahan's second goal of the game, time slowed down. This time, though, I appreciated it a lot more. Not surprisingly, getting lost in Bates' taste and feel and surrendering myself to his ministrations is infinitely more enjoyable than watching heart breaking defeat happen to you in slow motion.
Sleepy and sated and actually kind of content, I was nearly asleep in his arms when he spoke softly. "Hey, Erik?"
"Yeah."
"Do you want to come to Chicago with me this summer? My family...wants to meet you."
That surprised me a little, that he had told his family about me. I certainly hadn't done the same. It was kind of an endearing gesture. "'Course I want to."
"Ok." He almost sounded relieved.
"You know what I'd like to do first, though?"
"What?"
"Go to the beach. I haven't been in a while. Just us."
I could feel his smile. "Yeah, ok."
"I know this place in South Carolina...a buddy of mine has a beach house there he'd let us use for a week or so."
"Nowhere near Myrtle, is it? It might be nice to be anonymous."
"It's an island. Kind of well known, but...small. Only a grocery store and a few locally run restaurants and stuff."
"What grocery store?"
"Uh, Piggly Wiggly, I think."
"Can't say no to a Piggly Wiggly."
I laughed a little as my eyelids drooped. I shifted a little, wrapping my leg around his and entwining our fingers. "'Night, Bates."
"Love you," he sighed.
I smiled. That was something else I'd never get tired of. "Love you, too."