Author’s notes: For this chapter, insert the events of ‘When Words Fail to Come" before this. This begins on March 13^th, when Edmonton pays a visit to Joe Louis Arena to face the Red Wings. Anyone see the problems here? Also, as you see at the end of the chapter, I’m showing my powers as a fanfiction writer. I think this is one of my favourite chapters. Anyway, enough from me read on!

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This has got to be the weirdest week of my life. Tommy liked Jochen. Jussi liked Tommy. And Janne had been harbouring feelings for Jussi. Did my Olympic experience drift back with me to the team? Now Tommy is with Jochen, and Janne is with Jussi. I had found all this out by accident, after our game against Washington, (Which we LOST) and I saw Tommy and Jochen sneak a kiss, and Janne looking all too affectionately at Jussi.

Seeing all this reminded me of Joe. I didn’t tell him, as Steve had advised me to before the games ended. I couldn’t tell him. There was no way I could go through the same painful storytelling process. Steve couldn’t help me now, though, as he was out for a good while with his knee injury that had been aggravated even more after the Olympics were over. I sent him a get well card, as well as a picture of Eric, Jerome and I with our jerseys and medals on, as well as the wilting flowers. Tommy and Jochen also decided to play jokers and steal my medal, and made me beg to get it back. That was not an experience I would want to duplicate.

But this was the last place I wanted to be right now. We were in Detroit, set to play one of the last road games left on our road trip. On the pre-game skate, while Joe Louis was filling up, I avoided any or all contact with Boyd. I stuck back in our end and talked with Tommy while the skate ended. "You look really happy with Jochen," I said distantly.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Are you all right, Ryan?" he asked, poking me with his blocker. "Hello? Earth to Ryan Smyth?"

I snapped out of whatever dream reality I was in and looked at him. "Yeah, Tommy?" I asked.

"Are you all right?" Tommy asked again, looking at me closely. "Your mind’s not here, is it? Are you still in Salt Lake too?" The last question was a joke to himself, as that’s what all the newspapers kept saying. ‘Tommy Salo suffering from a post-Olympic hangover?’ He and Jochen weren’t the only ones pissed off about that.

Shaking my head, I sighed. "No, I’m not…well, I’m just…it’s nothing, Tommy. Detroit’s just not the place I want to be right now…there are too many memories." With that, I turned around and skated back to the visitor’s dressing room. As I was walking back to the dressing room, I saw Steve, dressed in casual clothes. "Hey, how are you feeling, Steve?"

"Better," Steve said, shaking my hand. "How are you feeling more importantly?"

I exhaled sharply. "My mind’s scrambled, Stevie. I’m thinking about three years ago, I’m thinking about this year and Joe Sakic. I don’t know what I’m doing. It helps though that we’re chasing a playoff spot. It keeps my mind off my personal life."

Steve laughed softly, and patted me on the shoulder. "Have you talked to Boyd?"

"Hell no!" I exclaimed, not meaning for my voice to be that high-pitched. "I…I couldn’t do it, Steve. But the game’s close to starting, and we get a lovely talk from MacT about the game plan tonight…I hope you recover soon."

"Thanks," Steve said as I walked quickly to the dressing room. "He’s not going to be happy until he does something about this thing with Boyd and Joe…" He put on a thoughtful face, then grinned. "Steve, you are one heck of a genius!" With that, he turned on his heel, and walked over to the Red Wings’ dressing room.

The penalty that was called to me with three minutes left in the game caused me to do something I didn’t normally do: freak out. I was slashed, then he slashed back, and I retaliated a third time, which was called. I argued the penalty, and as a result, got a game misconduct. Detroit just never seems to be a good place to be when you’re in my state of mind. Still, we got a point, and that was crucial.

At least we stopped Brendan from getting his 500^th career goal. A little consolation and I was looking forward to playing Ottawa. At least there was a team we could beat the pants off of regularly. I changed out of my gear and into my casual clothes and went into the stands of Joe Louis, just staring out at the ice. "I have got to have the most screwed up life ever," I muttered, putting my face into my hands.

"Correction: we all have the most screwed up lives ever," a voice corrected me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. My head snapped up and I saw Boyd. "Hey Ryan."

"B-Boyd," I stammered, frozen to my spot. "H-how did you find me up here?"

Boyd smiled. "It wasn’t hard to see you from down there. That mullet is pretty traceable." He sat down beside me and bit his lip a little. "How are you doing?"

I avoided his gaze and stared out to the ice. "You mean before or after the Olympics?"

"Whatever’s relevant to your problems," Boyd replied. "What’s on your mind, Ryan? You’re not usually this…broody."

"My mind is so messed up right now, I don’t know where to begin, Boyd," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

"Usually the beginning’s a good place," Boyd said smiling.

Looking at his face, I wanted to pour out everything to him. "It started after we lost to Sweden 5-2. Paul Kariya asked me to go and calm down Joe Sakic, who was murdering the wall with his shoe, cursing Mats Sundin and Tommy Salo. I went in and got him to stop destroying property. Then…he kissed me."

Boyd’s face was etched with surprise. "Joe Sakic…kissed you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it was pretty weird. I freaked out and high-tailed it out of there. It just…it reminded me of what happened with us, Boyd. Joe then scared the hell out of me the day of the Germany game, and we talked about what happened. He asked me if I liked the kiss, point blank."

"What did you say?" Boyd asked softly.

"I said I liked it," I replied, and dug my nails further into my palm. "Joe then asked me, on the day of the Belarus game if we should…become a couple or something. I said why not, it would be okay to experiment…I thought it would be all right considering I needed to get over what happened three years ago. So we were a couple…sort of. Joe and I were talking in the dressing room before the gold medal game against the US, and he kissed me. Steve apparently saw us too."

Boyd looked clearly surprised. "Steve saw Joe kiss you? In the dressing room?"

I nodded. "Yeah…he also said ‘you’re so beautiful when you talk like that,’ which just…you said the same thing to me Boyd, and I nearly lost it. After we won the gold medal, Joe was entwining his hand in mine, and I was getting a little paranoid of whether or not someone would see us. Joe then… he asked if I wanted to go back to the hotel room. I just freaked out and ran away.

"I didn’t get far before I ran into Steve. He asked me why I ran away from Joe, and pulled me into the room we shared. I didn’t give him an answer, and he said bluntly that he saw Joe kiss me. Now I had to explain to him the deal behind that. I told Steve that it reminded too much of what happened between you and me three years ago. I told Steve everything—from what Weight said and did to you, to how I badly I felt for you—and he said that I had to tell Joe before the games were over."

Boyd bit his lip a little harder. "Did you tell him?"

I shook my head. "I couldn’t do it, Boyd. I couldn’t tell him what happened. It was hard enough to tell Steve everything that happened, but I couldn’t tell Joe. It was my fault that Weight singled you out and practically destroyed your self-confidence, and that you got traded to Detroit. I never forgave myself and from then on I didn’t want to be in that same position again—"

What cut me off was the back of Boyd’s hand coming across my left cheek. Stunned, I put a hand to my sore cheek, and looked at Boyd for his explanation. "It wasn’t your fault what Weight did," Boyd said firmly. "He was too insecure about his own sexuality since two members of his team were together, that he had to take it out on me." I looked at him, transfixed. This wasn’t the same Boyd Devereaux that I played with. He was more confident and stronger mentally. "It wasn’t your fault. The only thing you did was love me. But what happened to us was three years ago, Ryan."

"But I still feel some of the blame should go to me," I protested, fighting the tears that were threatening to release. "You weren’t the only one that should have been penalised. It takes two people to have a relationship, and I was that other person. I should have stood up for you, Boyd. I was the Assistant Captain, so I—"

Boyd looked at me sternly. "Ryan, there’s nothing you can do now about it. Doug’s with St. Louis, and I’m in Detroit. You shouldn’t let what happened between us come between what you could have had with Joe. It sounds like you two could have had something special. Something that would’ve lasted."

I snorted in disbelief. "I doubt he’d want anything to do with me. I ran away from him remember. That usually means to the other person that you don’t want anything to do with them. He probably wouldn’t give me the time of day."

"You don’t know that unless you do something about it," Boyd countered. "Ryan, you’ve got to phone him and tell him everything that you told Steve. I can see it in your eyes you want to talk to Joe Sakic again. You’ve got it bad, kiddo."

"Where do you get off calling me kiddo?" I asked lightly, a small smile on my lips. "I’m older than you, remember?"

"By what? 3 months?" Boyd retorted, snorting. "But you know I’m right, Ryan. You can’t stop thinking about Joe, can you? That’s a proven sign that you’ve got it bad for him. I might go so far as to say you love him."

My eyes widened. "Love? I don’t know if it’s love, Boyd. It started out from a freak kiss that he admitted he didn’t mean to happen. Then, I don’t even know what it became. We were a couple or something for three days, not even! How can you call that love?"

Boyd looked at me square in the eyes. "Love isn’t something that’s clearly defined, Ryan. Trust me, I know. I’ve moved on from three years ago, and if I can do it, it’s definitely time for you to."

"Who’s the lucky girl that helped you through your mental anguish?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Not a girl," Boyd replied, his eyes twinkling.

"A guy?" I asked in disbelief. "Who is it?"

"Guess."

"Federov?"

Boyd made a face. "Girls may think he’s cute, but he’s got that Anna Kournikova chick."

"Chelios?"

"He’s way too broody to help me. Try harder, Ryan."

I put on a thoughtful look. "Shanahan?"

Boyd made the same face. "No! Come on, you’re not trying! It’s the same guy that helped you out!"

My eyes widened again. "Steve Yzerman? Y-you mean, you’ve been…you’re…involved with Stevie? Like that?"

Boyd nodded. "Yeah…I bet he didn’t look surprised when you told him about Weight. That’s because I told him a few months ago the same thing. I…I had been harbouring a crush on him for as long as I can remember. We’ve…we’ve kind of been a thing for the last couple of months."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Man! Boyd, you sure know how to land one hell of a bombshell! I didn’t expect to see that one coming! You! And Steve! I have got to admit, you two make a cute couple."

He shoved me, and grinned. "Yeah, yeah. But Ryan, enough about me. I want you to phone Joe and tell him everything you told Steve. I don’t know what’s going to happen when you do, but you’re not going to know until you do. Promise me, all right?"

Slowly, I nodded, and gave him a hug. "Yeah, Boyd…I’ll phone him…" We both stood up, and I smiled. "Thanks a lot Boyd. This talk…it’s helped me a lot…"

Boyd smiled. "Hey, what’s a friend for?" He hugged me one last time, and affectionately ran a hand through my wild blond hair. "This Mullet sure grows fast, Smytty. Do you use miracle grow or something?"

"Hey, you’re pushing it now," I warned, as I smiled. "I’m going to be late and miss our flight. See you later, Boyd…and thanks again."

"Not a problem, Ryan," Boyd replied, waving.

I stared at the cell phone in my hand. For the past two hours, I had been debating whether or not to call Joe. Being so wrapped up in my thoughts, I barely heard the pilot’s message and the standard directions for plane rides. Eric and Tommy were sitting beside me, and I had the window seat, and Eric had the aisle seat, leaving Tommy in the middle. "I can’t do it," I finally declared, shoving my cell phone into my bag.

"Can’t do what?" Tommy asked, looking up from his book.

"I’m too much of a chicken-shit to phone Joe Sakic and tell him that I might love him," I blurted, to their surprised faces. "And now I can’t do jack shit about it since we’re going to be landing in Edmonton soon, and we don’t play Colorado for the rest of the season."

Eric and Tommy looked worriedly at each other, then looked back to me. "Uh, Ryan," Eric began, taking a deep breath.

"What?" I asked, tightening my grip on the armrests.

"We’re not going to Edmonton yet," Eric said.

I straightened out immediately after hearing that. "What do you mean? Don’t we go back home to play Washington after we played Ottawa?"

"No, we have one more game left," Tommy replied.

"Against who?" I demanded. I was getting sick and tired of this road trip, and there was nothing more that I wanted than to get back to Edmonton and wallow in my own self-pity.

"Colorado."