I have been seeing these all over and I’m curious. So answer me this in the tags.
Crosby or Ovechkin, Bruins or Canadiens, Orr or Grezky, Blackhawks or Penguins, Gallagher or Marchand, shoot out or OT goal, Matthews or Laine, jersey or hat, big hit or great fight, playoffs or regular season, PK Subban with the Preds or with the Habs, blowout or close game.
Requested: Yes: Sidney Crosby prompt I can’t believe we just did that .
Word count: 850
Summary: dialogue prompt “I can’t believe we just did that”
I feel sick to my stomach.
I don’t deserve the ‘bride’ sash laying on the floor.
I don’t deserve my amazing fiancé who’s awake at 2 in the morning to make sure I’m okay.
I don’t deserve the 14 karat ring on my finger that he spent four months saving up for.
My eyes slide over to the man in bed beside me who’s desperately trying to catch his breath.
My eyes bulge as I notice the picture frame on his bedside table next to the half empty box of condoms from our escapade.
Inside the picture frame is a photo- Sidney Crosby, the man I just slept with, is standing next to the Stanley Cup.
One hand is resting on the cup and the other is wrapped around the waist of a pretty brunette.
Their lips are connected.
I groan in despair, causing the man to look over at me.
I hate my ability to get wasted so easily.
I hate my ability to be impressed by hockey players so easily.
I hate that my friends just stood there and watched while this stranger dragged me back to his place, knowing that I have a fiancé that I should remain loyal to.
I notice Sidney still looking at me so I stare back at him, regretting filling my body as I take in his red face and hair soaked from sweat.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” I repeat, turning my gaze to stare at the white ceiling.
My heart pounds in guilt.
What if my fiancé finds out?
He knew I was going to get wild, since this is my bachelorette party, but I bet he could never predict me betraying him like this.
I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat.
My shaky legs pull me out of the bed, blindly reaching for my clothes and pulling them on.
“Where are you going?” Sidney asks, sitting up in bed to watch me.
“Home, where I belong,” I choke out.
“What? You can’t go home.”
He hops out of bed as I’m struggling to zip up the zipper on the back of my dress.
“You have a girlfriend,” I motion towards the picture, “I have a fiancé!”
“So what?” He steps forward, grabbing my trembling hands. “I have a connection with you, Y/N.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I whisper.
“You don’t feel it? When we touch, there’s a spark, I want to be near you all of the time and I just met you three hours ago, I want to stare into your eyes for the rest of my life,” he shakes my hands, “Please. Please leave your fiancé for me.”
“What?” I tear my hands out of his grasp. “I can’t, I love him.”
“If you really loved him you wouldn’t have enjoyed our night as much as you did.”
I look away, not wanting to show him how true his words are.
“I’m sorry, Sidney,” I sigh, “But there’s still a large part of me that loves him. And I already promised my future to him, I couldn’t hurt him like that.”
“But if you’re spending the rest of your life with someone you want to love them fully!”
“You think I don’t know that?” I snap, finally meeting his gaze.
His hazel eyes plead with mine and I know what he wants to hear.
He wants to hear me say that I’ll leave my fiancé to spend my life with him instead.
But even if I did leave my fiancé, there’s no promise that he’ll leave his girlfriend.
“He’s safety.” My voice is so quiet I’m unsure he can hear it, but by the wince that jolts through his body I can tell he does. “He’s comfort. I know that he’ll always be there when I need him to be, but I’m not sure about you, Sid.”
He remains silent.
He doesn’t even watch as I grab the rest of my stuff and leave.
I never told my husband about my hook up with one of his favorite hockey players.
And I don’t tell him the truth when he asks me if I’m okay when I make eye contact with Sidney.
“Ben, you wanna go see if you can get a puck from Sidney Crosby?” He urges our four year old son.
The little boy nods excitedly as he runs down to stand behind the glass, tiny hands resting on the ledge.
The hockey player skates past, throwing a puck over the glass for my son to catch.
Ben starts to excitedly describe the experience to his dad and I but I’m not really listening.
Instead, I watch as Sidney raises a hand to wave at me.
A goodbye that he didn’t give from that night.
I nod in understanding, rocking the crying one year old boy in my lap that his eyes flit to longingly.
I can tell what he’s thinking.
If maybe he was a little more persistent, we could have this together.
not only do i want the penguins NOT to visit the white house this year, i also want them to give the most thinly veiled excuses possible when asked. like oh, sorry we can’t be at the white house… sidney’s got a cold… tanger is washing his hair that day… geno just forgot how to speak english… not that we’d expect his russian to be too much trouble for the current white house staff, but all the same,
“From the time I was little I always looked up to him, and I think he really was my best friend when I was growing up. To have him leave when I was so young, it was definitely very emotional.
He’s still, you know, a typical older brother, he teases me, but he’s definitely a teacher as well. Kinda like a dad, I guess, in that sense.
I get that he’s good at hockey, but I, you know, when he won the Stanley Cup I didn’t see the hockey player necessarily; I saw the little kid that I grew up with achieving his lifelong goal or dream.” - Taylor Crosby