Can’t you see that I wanna be there with open arms?

Its empty tonight, and I’m all alone.

Get me through this one

I’m writing again, these letters to you

Not much I know

But I’m not sleeping, and you’re not here,

The thought stops my heart

-Finch, “Letters to You”

            No.

            No.

            No.

            That is not Steve. That is not Steve Yzerman, the greatest Captain in the history of the NHL. That cannot be him—limping, wincing in pain. No.

            He looked up and his eyes met mine. “Hi, Jiri,” he says, forcing a smile, “Did you blow off camp today?”

            “No, Shanny let us leave early,” I explained, “He went to check on Catherine, but he should be here soon. Hi, Lisa,” I commented as she passed me, patting me on the arm. She mouthed a thank you, and opened the front door. Without giving it a second thought, I slipped an arm around Stevie to support him as he stepped over the threshold. He looked up at me, an odd, unreadable expression in his eyes. Deep, brown, friendly eyes that were just a bit puffy, tinged pink around his lashes. I paused as the realization struck me, and nearly sent me to my knees—Steve Yzerman had been crying.

            Once inside, he pulled from my grasp, then slowly made his way into the living room, leaving me stranded in the foyer, paralyzed from the shock of knowing that something had made Stevie—my captain—cry. That damn doctor probably screwed something up. He did something wrong, and he did even more damage to Stevie’s knee. He left him with no feeling whatsoever in his leg. Stevie would never walk again. He’d never be able to run around with his kids again. He’d never be able to golf again. He’d never be able to play hockey again. He’d never get to play on the ice with us again. Then he won’t be our captain anymore. And then…and then…

            “Um…Fishy?” he called, interrupting my silent hyperventilation, “You can come in, you know…”

            I shook all of the negativity off of me, out of my head, and followed his voice, “Yeah, I know. I, um…I though I saw Shanny. But it wasn’t him,” I replied lamely, looking for a reason to change the subject. “So, how did your appointment go?”

            He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the sofa and sighed. “I don’t want to even talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to even imagine reliving that to explain it to you. Let’s just suffice it to say that the past few hours were the closest thing to hell that I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.”

            Lisa stood silently in the corner of the room, watching the two of us—back and forth, one eyebrow slightly raised. After a while she spoke, announcing that she was going to see Cathy, and find out if she needed anything. She looked at me and motioned for me to follow her. Steve was still resting, eyes closed, and didn’t even notice I had left. “Thank you, Jiri, for being here. I think he’s pretending he didn’t want anyone to see him like this, but I could see how relieved he was to have someone to talk to other than me. You’re a good guy, and he needs that right now,” she paused, casting a sidelong glance down the hall, “If worse comes to worst, just beat him into submission. It always worked for me,” she finished with a wink, squeezing my hand as she left.

            When I got back to Steve, he was in basically the same position, but with an arm draped up over his eyes, his lips set in a tight line. “I never imagined that anything could be that painful, Jiri. I just want to take a pain pill and go to sleep, and just ignore everything that happened today.”

            Wordlessly, I walked into the kitchen, finding the orange prescription bottle on the counter and a cold Aquafina in the refrigerator. “You’re taking Vicadin, right…” I asked as I reentered the room, trailing off when I saw that he had shifted so that he was lying across the couch, one leg propped on a pillow, one arm behind his head. His breathing was even, his features peaceful.

            He moved, causing an agonized moan to escape his mouth and abruptly waking him up. He noticed the pills in my hand and a grateful smile broke out on his face, “You are a wonderful man,” he sat up and took the bottles, downed a pill, and laid against his arm again, “I freakin’ love you, Jiri.”

            I blinked a few times in rapid succession, then sat on the recliner a few feet away, watching him fall back to sleep, thoughts racing through my head faster than I could put them together.

            Steve Yzerman just declared his love for me.

            Sort of.

            I stared at his chest, the steady rise and fall of it, replaying the words in my head. It was an expression of gratitude—or friendship at the very most.

            My eyes traveled up to his face, focusing on his full lower lip, then the upper one, and then his eyelids. Despite the moments when he unconsciously winced in pain, he looked perfect. A napping Prince. A dozing Knight. Sleeping Beauty.

            Okay. Bad Fairy Tale character comparison. Nonetheless, the simple fact remained: Just looking at him was making me all weird inside. Add to that the way my stomach had clenched when he’d (sort of) said he loves me, and there was only one logical conclusion…

            “Hey Fishy! What’s up?” Brendan asked as he entered the room, making me nearly fall off of my chair, scaring me half to death.

            “Nothing,” I replied quickly, jumping up. “I just realized though, I have to run. He took a pill and said that he wanted to sleep. Just tell him that I said goodbye. And that I hope he feels better. And, um…ask him how the appointment went. He might talk to you more than he did to me. I’ll talk to you later Bren, tell Cathy I said hi,” I rattled on and on until I was safely out the front door, leaving him behind before the confused look on his face had a chance to turn into a round of twenty questions.

            As soon as I was in my car, I turned up the radio, some rock song that I didn’t really know too well. I leaned my head against the stereo, banging it lightly enough that the horn didn’t beep, cursing at myself in Czech, mixing in a few English curses for good measure.

            “You are such a Jackass, Jiri. Just a total damn moron. What in the hell are you thinking?” I looked at myself in the mirror, my blue eyes looking scared and embarrassed, and I hated them because they were so damn telling. “You are a complete Jackass.”

            Only a Jackass would be stupid enough to develop a crush on his captain.

            I stared at the clock’s greenish digital numbers switch from 1:53 to 1:54, each minute seemed to last three. I was curled up on my bed sideways, one arm tucked under my pillow, praying for sleep.

            The look on Steve’s face was haunting me. He was scared, in horrible pain, and fighting to remain in control. But the fear had stopped making me dizzy. Even the severe limp had stopped sending me into panic attacks. He was Stevie Y. He would pull through. He would fight it until he couldn’t fight any longer.

            It was the tears that bothered me. They were gone by the time I saw him, but it was all too obvious that they had been there. It made me sick—literally, I had been too nauseous to eat, and the nervousness twisting inside of me was making my insomnia almost unbearable.

            I sighed loudly and rolled over in bed, watching my ceiling fan’s blades spinning around and around, over and over again. I was restless, I felt like I wasn’t doing anything, but that there were a million things that I could have been attending to. I wanted nothing more than to drive back to his house, sit next to his bed and watch him sleep. To make sure he was okay. To protect him.

            “That’s what he’s got a wife for, moron,” I murmured to myself, running my fingers through my damp hair. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing my breathing to settle into a slow, steady pattern, attempting to run passing drills through my head.

            Just as sleep started to weigh on my limbs, the phone rang just inches from my ear.

            “Hello?” I grumbled.

            Silence.

            “Hello?” I asked more forcefully.

            More silence.

            I growled, “You know what, you are a…” I paused to take a breath, fully intending to unleash a very loud tirade on the person at the other end of the line, until a quiet clearing of the voice interrupted me.

            “Jiri?”

            I gasped, my palms immediately growing damp, “Steve? What’s wrong? Can I help? What is it?”

            He laughed slightly, “Well, at least I know you’re awake. Are you up to company? I can’t sleep. I tried calling Brendan, but Cathy needs her rest and all, and…”
            “Steve, no, just wait there, I’ll drive over.”

            “Well,” he answered, “that might not be the greatest idea…” he trailed off just as my doorbell rang.