Maybe things are getting better...
Maybe things aren't so bad.
Don't be gone when I get home...
you're all I have.
If I had to explain it,
I wouldn't know where to start.

It’s like you’re falling in love while I just fall apart.

-The Get Up Kids, “Ten Minutes”

            The locker room was empty when I got there, which was perfect, because I was hoping to ask Brendan if he had heard anything from Steve about his doctor’s appointment the day before. I stripped out of my shirt and jeans, and started strapping on my pads, checking the door every couple of minutes. As I was pulling on my practice jersey, Brendan walked in carrying a duffel bag.

            “Early today, Fish,” he commented teasingly, “Are you trying to make some brownie points?”

            “No, I woke up earlier than usual,” I lied, checking the entrance again. “So, uh, how is your wife feeling?”

            A look of bliss swept across his features, “She’s feeling good; I think she’s gotten past the morning sickness phase. She keeps complaining that she’s fat, so I have to keep reminding her that she’s just as—if not more—beautiful right now,” he glanced down, almost bashfully, “Sorry, I get kind of sappy when I talk about it.”

            I smiled, “Shanny, I cannot even imagine what you are feeling right now, but it has to be…” I paused, searching for the right word, “breath-taking.”

            He nodded slowly, “It really is,” he said, his grin widening, “ I don’t know if I’ve ever been this much in love with her,” he finished.

            After a few moments of silence, I cleared my throat. “Did you hear from Steve yesterday or anything?”

            “Yeah, he called me after his appointment. He’s got to go in for some tests next week at a neurologist.”

            “Did the doctor say why?” I asked, and he shook his head, avoiding my eyes. “Brendan, please? I really want to know. Is he going to be okay?”

            He sighed loudly, then shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I really don’t know, Jiri. The doctor said that everything has healed properly—he should be feeling a lot better by now, but he isn’t,” he looked up and met my eyes.  “He’s so scared, but he’s fighting to keep it from showing. He wants to come back and play with all of us so badly, and it’s killing him that he has to sit around and watch.”

            I bit the inside of my cheek, ignoring the tightening of panic that threatened in my chest. “What if he can’t?” I asked softly.

            He stared at me for a long time, his eyes betraying his own fear. “I don’t know,” he answered despondently.

            I took a deep breath, then forced a smile to my lips as Dandy and Boyd entered the room. One by one, my teammates appeared and began undressing, oblivious to the concern that Brendan and I shared.

            I was the first one on the ice, and I started skating in a figure eight, leaning to either side to stretch and warm up my muscles, my mind everywhere but in the rink with me. I checked the bench and bleachers as often as I could, wondering when Steve would show up. Chelios skated up next to me, checking me not-so-gently into the boards as he did.

            “How’re you doing, Fish? You seem distracted today.”

            “I’ll be fine. I’m just tired, you know. I had a rough night,” I answered, which was the truth. I’d tossed and turned all night, wondering what the doctor had told Steve the day before. Around three A.M., I finally passed out from exhaustion, but had unsettling dreams until I woke up at seven, unable to fall back to sleep.

            He watched me for a minute, eyebrows knitted tightly. He hadn’t bought my explanation, but kept his comments to himself. He kept an eye on me all through practice, being uncharacteristically careful not to push me too hard or check me too roughly. Steve didn’t show up until half of the guys had left the ice. I skated over to where he was standing, near the entrance to the locker room.

            “Sleeping in,” I scolded with a smile. “You are such a slacker.”

            One corner of his mouth—his scarred, asymmetrically perfect mouth—turned up in a grin. “Don’t I wish? I had therapy today.”

            “Oh,” I said numbly, “How did it go?”

            He shrugged, “As well as can be expected when you’re gimpy. I’ve got to go in for some tests, and we’ll see what happens from there.”

            I stared hard at the laces of my skates, searching for something to say. “I hope that everything goes okay with the tests. I…um…we miss you.”

            He smiled faintly, reaching up to pat me on the shoulder, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

            God, how I hoped he was right.

            “Okay. Out with it.”

            I turned to Chris, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

            “You might be tired, but that isn’t what has you so damn depressed. I want to know what’s wrong,” he said, pulling the passenger side door of my truck open, making it obvious that he wasn’t going to leave for a while. He waited for answers, arms crossed indignantly.

            I looked straight ahead, then back at him. “You can come back to get your car later, right?” He nodded, so I switched gears to reverse.

            I drove along the highway, trying to organize my thoughts. I was scared—that much I was sure of. I was afraid that something was so wrong with Steve that he wouldn’t be able to play again. That made me sad, because I knew how much he loved the game, and how much it would break his heart if he had to walk away from it. That left me feeling…confused. Because sympathy wasn’t what I was feeling. I felt bad, but it was deeper than that. It was this insane desire to make it go away, to take away his pain. To kiss it and make it all better.

            Figuratively, of course.

            “So what is it? Girl problems?”

            “Not really…I don’t have a girl to have problems with,” I replied quickly. Then I thought about how to explain in a way that would get him off of my back. “But…uh…maybe that’s the problem, Chelly. I just feel a little lonely. My parents are thousands of miles away, and I don’t really have anyone at home. I guess I would like to have someone to talk to at night. When its dark and quiet in my bedroom, and I’m laying there thinking, I wish I had someone to discuss everything with.”

            He gave me an understanding smile, “And to wake up with.”

            That one statement, as simple as it was, left me very uncomfortable. First of all, Chelly had never been empathetic with me. He had always shown masculinity, never hinting to his emotions—it was unnerving. Secondly, it gave me a startlingly vivid image of opening my eyes in the morning with my arm around Steve, his body tucked up against mine, his head nestled in the space between my shoulder and neck. I shook off the tingles dancing in my veins and ignored the sweat that dampened my hands at the thought.

            I coughed, hoping to lighten the conversation and eventually steer it to something a little bit safer. “Well, yeah. That would be nice too. It sucks sleeping alone.”

            He nodded, “I know what you mean. I’m not sure what I would do with out Tracee. Sometimes you just need someone there. Someone who will listen to your thoughts—every once in a while, that seems like the most important thing in the world. You’ll find someone eventually, Fish. Hell, I found a woman who puts up with me, and you’re easier to deal with than I am. If you wait long enough, there’ll be someone who you care about more than anyone or anything else in the world. She’ll be on your mind all day, and all you’ll want to do is hold her and protect her from all of the bad shit in the world. Until then, just make sure to have a lot of friends, and keep busy to keep your mind off of the loneliness.”

He paused, and a wicked grin broke out on his face.

            “And if you get really lonely, there was always that girl at practice the other day…”