twenty-five

Lots of overlap in this chapter with Harder Than Stone. Hope you guys are reading that one on Mibba!

___

Sunday morning, Meghan resisted the urge to lay in John’s bed all day while he met with this agent.  It was the second meeting in a month, which was twice more than James met with his agent all summer.  Meghan wondered if her dad was right about the captaincy coming John’s way and what that meant for contracts and such.  She’d have to ask when it actually happened.

The first floor of James’ house was quiet.  The second floor was snoring.  It was better than Cindee “with two e’s!” or someone wandering around the kitchen in panties asking Meghan to make her eggs Benedict, but still she approached carefully.  Part of Meghan had wished for James to bring home a girl and make it easier to confess about John.  The other part really didn’t want to run into that girl.

She didn’t have to.  James was asleep with his door was open, face down on top of the blankets, clothes still on and one of her pillows under his chest, wrapped in an arm.  Meghan approached and gently shook his shoulder.

James rolled a bit, opening one eye.  “You’re home.”

“You’re snoring,” she said quietly.  

“Sorry, I….” James tried to sit up but just wobbled back to the bed.  “Ugh.”

“Shhhh, stay there.  I’ll get you something.”

James curled himself into a new position, pushing Meghan’s pillow under his head.  Was she just coming in?  What time was it?  And why had he drank so much that he needed to be taken care of by the girl he was trying to win over?  She was back quickly, carrying Gatorade and Advil.

“Good night?”  Meghan went to sit down.

“Ugh.  I just need to sleep,” James said, not wanting her to see this.

“Oh,” Meghan was surprised by the curt tone.  “Okay.  Um, feel better.”

“Thanks Meg,” he mumbled as she left.

James slept another few hours before dragging himself into the shower.  The headache had lessened but that only freed his mind to other painful thoughts.  Meghan had stayed out overnight - he didn’t know where and had no right to ask.  Perhaps she’d done it to avoid another awkward meeting with his one night stand.  The idea that she expected such behavior made his stomach turn - vodka was down there too, helping.  The hot shower burned away some of the fuzziness until James could towel himself off without feeling dizzy.  His eyes were bloodshot in the mirror.

“No wonder she doesn’t want me.”

Downstairs, breakfast was cooking.  Not just any breakfast either - he smelled bacon.  There had certainly been no bacon when he left last night, which meant Meghan had gone to the store after he went back to sleep.  How pitiful, he couldn’t even feed himself.

She worked the stove, wearing gray patterned shorts and a light blue tank top that skimmed every curve of her body.  From behind, James plotted exactly where he’d wrap his arms around her waist, cross them at her chest and hold onto her shoulders while he kissed her good morning.  Her soft, thick hair would smell like shampoo, her lips would taste like cherry gloss.  If he were allowed to do that sort of thing.

“You didn’t have to,” he said miserably, announcing his presence instead of leering at her like a creep.

“I wanted to.”  She reached high overhead for some kitchen gadget James had never used - a plate with ridges and channels - on which she carefully laid out the strips of bacon to drain.  The eggs looked better than Paul Martin’s, but they always were.  Next to that pan was a dish of sliced avocado and two toasted English muffins.

“Sandwich or plate?” she asked.

Her eyes were so green.  Meghan smiled at him - James felt the floor move under his feet and hoped it was the liquor talking.

“Sandwich.”

She snapped bacon in half, put in on a muffin and folded some eggs on top.  A slice of cheese went in next and she pressed the top bread on.  That plus avocado landed in front of James with a glass of orange juice.

Meghan stood right by his side as he looked down at the plate.  She’d seen a hundred hangovers but this was different.  This felt heavy.

“You okay?”  She wanted so badly to brush an errant curl out of his face.

I hate myself, he thought.  

“Yeah, okay.”

They ate together in silence, yet another time Meghan knew she could not mention John.  This wasn’t the time for talking at all.  James rolled his neck stiffly between bites of food, thanking her robotically.  The longer she sat there the more sure she became that James wanted very much to be left alone.

“I’m gonna go shopping with Lucy.  Need anything?”

He finally met her eyes.  There was a twinge of sadness there beyond exhaustion, beyond his hangover.  She wondered if something bad had happened last night.  Had he been with a girl?  Gotten in a fight?  It could be anything, judging from the shape he was in now.  James stayed at the table as she cleared it, so Meghan refilled his juice.  She felt like an overbearing waitress.

“See you later, yeah?”

He took a long, slow sip.  “Later.”

____

“There was no girl?” Lucy asked for the second time.  They were strolling through downtown, coffees in hand, wandering into any store that looked interesting.

“No girl.  And no sign that one left before I got home.”

“Wow,” Lucy shook her head.

Meghan felt oddly defensive of the condition she’d described leaving James in.  “Why is that surprising?  It’s not like he bangs some chick every single night.”

“I’m just depressed to live in a world where James Neal spends the night alone.  It seems like a crime against nature.  Or gingers.”

Meghan rolled her eyes.  She was holding her cup too tightly, walking too fast.  Everything seemed strained.

“So what are you all worked up about?  Don’t tell me you wanted to find some slut doing the splits in your living room this morning?  Not like, what was her name?  Bambi?”

“Becki,” Meghan said.

“Right, Bambi.  At least it wasn’t that.”

They steered into a housewares shop full of pseudo-crafty things in bright patterns.  James always told Meghan to buy anything she wanted for the house because he intended to buy nothing.  If not for her it would sit mostly undecorated until… he has a girlfriend, she thought.  Or a wife.

Meghan couldn’t imagine James committed to a relationship - the guy couldn’t even buy a rug.  Of course he had all the money in the world, and rugs were replaceable.  Like his dates.

“I just don’t know what’s up with him.  One minute I think he’s fine, the next he’s kissing me on his boat, then he’s practically throwing me out of his house like my presence bothers him.”

“Well you didn’t kiss him back.  That sounds bothersome.”

“I didn’t do exactly what he wanted, which was swoon into his bed the first moment James Neal batted his ridiculously long eyelashes,” Meghan spat.  “Honestly if he thought I was going to do that, he doesn’t know me at all.”

“Oh he knows you,” Lucy corrected.  She reached for a framed painting of an elephant in silhouette.  “That’s what so messed up about this.”

“What do you mean?”

She replaced the artwork to examine a blue glass vase with bubbles around the lip.  “James knows you’re happy but he doesn’t know the reason.  Or doesn’t want to know.”

“Well he’s going know to soon enough.”  Meghan fiddled with the hinged door on a tiny decorative lantern.

Lucy sighed.  “Your parents said you could move back in?”

“My dad said I should stay with John.  I’m not sure how to take that - on one hand it’s gross that he would suggest it, on the other hand I’m offended they don’t want me back immediately.”

“Wow, John must have really impressed them.”

“You should’ve seen it, Luce.  He showed up in slacks and a belt with his shirt tucked in.  My mom must’ve thought they were being audited.  He brought her flowers for her birthday and talked golf with my dad.  By the end they were offering him a dowry to take me away.”

All Lucy could do was laugh.  That was exactly the John she had met.  Meghan’s claims that he was excellent in the bedroom and surprisingly witty in real life were suspect, but Lucy could definitely picture him rolling up to her parents’ house like it was a school board meeting.

The next store was Victoria’s Secret and Lucy held the door open wide.

“Come on, he did so well let’s buy him something nice.”

____

Things were no better when Meghan got home.  James answered her “Hello!” with a grumpy “Hi” from his bedroom.  She could hear the TV on.  When she knocked, he didn’t even mute it.

“Come in.”

He leaned against a few pillows - including hers, Meghan could see - in an old t-shirt.  Dark circles ringed his eyes and his hair was a disaster; not the sexy kind, but a real mess.  For someone quite vain about his appearance, it was a rarity to see James looking so out of sorts. Normally she would have approached but his expression kept her at bay.

“Feeling any better?”

“Not really.”

She gave him a thin smile.  “Holler if you need anything.”

James felt like shit, and like a shit.  Meghan hadn’t done anything wrong here.  He managed half a nod and said, “Thanks Meg.”

____

Monday morning, James had no choice but to feel better.  It was just something he’d have to power through. Rolling some of the lingering tension of two bad nights’ sleeps from his shoulders, he stalked into the gym.

“Nealer,” Roberts said from behind the front counter.

James nodded.  “Satan.”

In the locker room, John and Steven were laughing about something.  They both stopped when James walked in, giving him the idea he was the butt of their joke.  Already in a bad mood, it just got worse.

“Missed you Saturday night, Tavares.  We had a killer night.  There was so much tail and we didn’t even give them the time of day.”  That part was true, if James didn’t count coming home to an empty house and feeling like shit the next day.

“Sounds great,” John mumbled.

“This one waitress, man, she was all over Stammer.  Had her tits out like he was gonna shove money between them,” James saw Steven roll his eyes.  “These chicks were lined up.  The minute you walked out of VIP they were everywhere, trying to get it.”

“You were everywhere trying to get it,” Steven cut in.

“Hey, gotta give them a taste,” James smiled.  “But no girls, that was the rule.  Just the boys and the booze.  Their loss.”

“It wasn’t exactly no girls, eh Nealer?  What about that redhead with her hand on your junk?”

James smiled.  “She was hot.”

“Was she? Because I’m pretty sure you hit on her friends too.  And the girls at the next table.  Maybe they were lined up because you were giving it away.”  Steven stood up from the bench.

James squared up.  “What is your problem?”

“You’re so full of shit.  You say no girls, but you’re out there trying to pull every piece that comes near you.  You’re so down with your boys but you dump me, completely fucked up, on Kaylynn’s doorstep at three in the morning?!  I spent the whole night puking in the bathroom with my brand new girlfriend and you expect me to thank you for it?”

“You should thank me,” James spat.  “Your dick’s all in a knot over this girl when she’s not going anywhere with you.  Sorry you missed a night of fucking her, because it’s one less you’ll have when you get back to Tampa.”

Even John’s hair stood on end at that remark.  

Steven’s face was red and he seethed, his broad chest making his workout shirt look far too small.  “Well I’m never convince her if she thinks I’m a drunk asshole.  But you know all about that, right?  How are things with Meghan?”

James lunged; John was quicker.  He was used to getting pushed around by other team’s best defenseman.  The taller, thinner Neal was too angry to be smart and so he was no match.  John shoved him against the bank of lockers and held.

“Get the fuck off me, Tavares!”

“Then stop it, asshole.” John grunted, banging James against the immovable surface one more time for emphasis.  

“You were home jerking off to the science channel while the big boys were out on the town.” James pushed back, barely getting any traction.

“I was with…,” John let go and stepped back all at once, his heart seizing.  He’d almost said Meghan.  He wanted to say her name, right here, and throw it in James’ face that the girl of his dreams was fucking someone else behind his back and and then follow the words with his fist.  But John had to be better than James.  For Meghan’s sake.

“I was with my girlfriend.”  

“Ha! Yeah right,” James straightened his shirt.  “At least Stammer’s girlfriend is real.”

Steven flexed his hand, opening his fist and rubbing it through his hair.  As much as he wanted to deck Neal he knew he’d done more damage with that single remark about Meghan.  He glared at his friend.

“You owe Kaylynn an apology.  And Meghan too, you fucking hypocrite.”

Steven stormed out.  Not wanting to stay with Neal, John went right after.  Alone in the locker room, James sagged against the wall.

____

The argument stayed in the front of John’s mind all day.  

It had taken every ounce of John’s restraint not to shout the truth in James’ face, but he would not use Meghan as a weapon.  He wanted James to know about it, but he also wanted Meghan to feel safe and happy.  That seemed directly at odds with the way Neal had acted today.  Apparently he’d been dogging some girls at a club - no surprise there.  The surprise was that anyone, including Meghan or Stamkos, believed that James would act otherwise.  John didn’t buy it for a second.

John had to tell Meghan about the fight.  He hoped to distract her with a date first.

When her tires turned in the drive he stayed upstairs, allowing Meghan to let herself in with her key.  John loved that.  She climbed to his room, walked past him and sprawled out on the bed in a patterned sundress.

“As I suspected, a booty call,” she said.

“We are going somewhere,” John replied.

Meghan hoisted herself up onto one elbow.  John wore a red and blue checked button down with short sleeves, off-khaki shorts and flip flops.  His hair was getting a little longer.  From where she sat, looking at a hot guy with a great body filling out a nice outfit, Meghan saw no reason to leave this room.

John, however, needed to take her out and make her happy before he brought up the ugly thing that happened at the gym.

He drove them into the city, to a spot he hadn’t visited in ages.  It wasn’t on the top of a repeat trip list, but the idea of being there with Meghan seemed quiet and romantic after a tumultuous day.  John valeted his car at a parking garage and they walked hand-in-hand to the Royal Ontario Museum.

Meghan bumped against his side on purpose.  If he were any other guy, a date to a museum would seem like a stuffy attempt to act cultured.  With John, he probably knew all about things in this museum because he found them interesting.  She tried to image James bringing a date here, and failed.

John bought their tickets while Meghan gazed around the soaring entryway.

“Don’t look yet, we’ll do this last,” he said, tilting her head down.

To the left, they wandered through exhibits on the culture of Canada, the First Peoples and Asia.  Together they read little signs describing the origins and use of artifacts, explaining the way of life in early times.  John did in fact know about some of the things, and Meghan knew about others.  But she didn’t know about the stairs.

The Stairs of Wonder had been a hot topic in Ontario when they opened.  Some people hated the museum’s new features for being too modern.  Meghan had all but forgotten about them.  The stairs, which led up through all four levels of the museum in an enclosed, zig-zagging pattern, were a gallery and treasure trove of their own.

“Oh my gosh, look!”  She stepped close to a window that held a huge bone - the jaw of a hippo, listed at 20 kgs.  John peered over her shoulder.

“Hippos live in sub-Saharan Africa,” he read.  “We could go to Africa.”

Meghan turned right around, a deadpan look on her face.  “You have never been to Disney World.  Or California, except for hockey.  And you want to go to Africa?”

John made a face.  “Are there hippos in California?”

She kissed his sarcasm away.  John had the money to go anywhere.  If he wanted to go to Africa because they saw a bone in a museum, it was as good a reason as any.

They climbed the stairs, stopping at window after window of curiosities big and small.  Thousand of sea shells prompted a discussion of beaches, and John’s insistence that Long Island beaches were amazing in the summer.  Antlers from an ibex started a discussion on hunting, which neither of them had any desire to try.  Finally they reached a section dedicated to paperweights.

“Museum-class paperweights,” she read.  “Hmm. Never would have guessed.”  They were beautiful though - all shapes and sizes, made of every substance imaginable.  Some were so finely wrought Meghan thought the effort was wasted on a paperweight unless it ended up in a museum.  They walked through textiles and costumes, through nature displays and the Canadian Mining Hall of Fame.  In the end they were back at the stairs, then back at the entrance.

“Okay, now look up,” John said.  He stepped in behind Meghan and wrapped his arms around her waist as she leaned back and took in the sight.

The Rotunda ceiling was a mosaic made up of thousands of sheets of Venetian glass, cut into millions of tiles.  It arched and domed, illuminated by high-set windows that brought out every shade of gold and bronze, every facet of jewel tone.  It was like standing inside a jewelry box with the lid closed overhead.

“It’s amazing,” Meghan said.  The sheer opulence of it nearly overwhelmed the idea that each tiny square had been laid by hand.

John pressed a kiss to the top of her ear.  “It’s only half as pretty as you are.”

Meghan pulled her eyes from the vision above and turned in John’s arms.  “You know, when we met I thought you weren’t any good with girls.”  

His lopsided grin said that John had thought the same.  The last month had surprised them both.

“I’m just getting started.”

____

Dinner was Italian and casual, even as they sat on the same side of a booth with their legs touching the entire time.  Meghan wondered if people noticed them sitting this way, if they thought it was cute or old-fashioned.  Before meeting John she would have said it was dumb.  Right now she couldn’t imagine allowing this table to come between them.

It was nearly dark when they reached his house.  That was good enough for her as she led him upstairs and deposited him on the bed to wait while she changed.  Lucy hadn’t been kidding about getting John a present - itwas still wrapped in it’s bright pink paper, tucked into a striped shopping bag.  As she unrolled it, it looked better than ever.

Meghan had never been a lingerie type of girl.  Maybe she’d just never had a reason.  She had more than enough cute underwear and a few bras to match, but nothing that was meant to be worn alone and then thrown quickly to the floor.  Shimmying into this, Meghan felt like she was putting on a costume.  It fit well, which was to say tightly in some parts, lifting and pushing in others.  She almost hoped it would be too much for John because he was cutest when he was nervous.

John had ditched his clothes and sat on the edge of the bed in his boxer briefs, feeling anxious.  He didn’t know if she would come out in head-to-toe leather or a slutty princess costume, it could be anything.  He only knew it would be good.  Of course, he’d thought the other night’s red panties and a tank top were good, and the peach number she wore under her dress their first time, and pretty much every piece of underwear he’d seen since.  He tucked his hands under his legs for something to do.

When the door from the bathroom opened, his mouth went dry.  Meghan’s hair was tied back, pulled to one side so it flowed over her shoulder.  Thick tendrils fell loose, framing her face.  She wore a white, nearly translucent bustier top that pushed her breasts up and together, like she might spill over.  The sheer fabric hugged her body to the waist, where it ended in black lace trim just above an inch of bare skin.  A matching v-shape of white and lace disappeared into the space between her thighs.  The corset top was connected by two delicate black straps to the top of black, thigh-high stockings.  Her high heeled shoes clicked twice against the tile floor before she reached the bedroom carpet and kept moving his way.

“Wow,” John said.  She was straight out of a catalog, right down to the berry colored stain on her lips.

Meghan felt like a piece in the museum they’d just visited.  The old John would never have just reached out and touched her.  This John was different.  His hands met her thighs, sliding upward to feel the press of stocking clasps beneath his palms.  Over the tiny edge of her panties and onto her bustier, his hands didn’t stop till they were pushing her breasts even higher than the padded cups.  From there John pulled her down onto the bed and rolled on top.   She crossed her ankles - high heels and all - behind his back.

Their lips met as his body pressed to hers, getting hard so quickly.  Meghan tilted her hips, adjusting his angle.

“Baby,” he said softly, finding the groove in her body.

Barely a minute passed before he was out his shorts.  John looked confused for a moment at the network of straps and fabric that encased Megha’s body so perfectly, wondering if or how he was meant to take them off.  Too much work.  Tugging the tiny scrap of her panties to one side, he didn’t stop for foreplay but guided his cock right inside.

Meghan didn’t need to pre-game.  She was ready now.  John pressed gently, filling her to the brim, until she sobbed out a breath in pleasure.  His hands moved over her outfit, exploring the boning and seams, the cups and lace.  It might have been a simple teddy but it was certainly not wasted on him.  John took his time.  Meghan knew it wasn’t easy from the soft grunts that spilled goosebumps across her skin.  He pushed the back of her thighs, hands well north of her stockings, and forced her legs higher.  Meghan’s high heels went up over John’s shoulders.

“Ohgod,” she gasped.  “Right there.”

A beautiful girl in lingerie, telling him how she wanted to be taken; John’s wildest dreams were coming true on a Monday night in Mississagua.  Suddenly he didn’t feel so bad for having never been to California.

They rolled and moved until finally Meghan ended up in John’s lap, her back to the headboard and her legs still around his waist.  Holding her close, kissing her like he would on the street but buried inside her body was a heady combination.  She dug her heels in for leverage as John pumped upward, bouncing her along his shaft.  The soft sheer of her stockings felt luxurious against his skin.

There was something about a guy who, even in his fantasy, just wanted to be close to her.  Meghan opened her eyes to find John looking back, as if he would memorize her for days they were apart.  When his mouth came down it was on her neck, kissing hard, breathing harder.  His lower body was so strong that Meghan could only hang on for the ride.

Someday he would get past this.  Someday John would be confident enough that he didn’t have to hold on so tightly while he and Meghan made love.  They could really take her lingerie for a spin. But until then, all he wanted to do was kiss her as he came.

“I’m gonna..,” he said.

“Me too,” she panted, “John.”

That was all it took to put him over the edge.  John clutched her shoulders and burst, spilling all these imaginary plans for the future deep into Meghan’s body.  She responded with a release of her own, crying out sharply.  Her head fell against his shoulder and John held them both up.

He wanted nothing more than to stay quiet all night.  Laying her down on her back, John put his chest to her side and one arm protectively across her body.  His lips found her earlobe; his hand found her hip.

“Stay tonight,” he said.

She shouldn’t.  She couldn’t really, without a story to tell, but in the post-orgasm bliss, Meghan didn’t even care.  “I will.”

They lay that way for a while: resting half-asleep in each others arms.  Finally Meghan needed the bathroom and John was thirsty.  He watched her change out of her lingerie and hang it carefully on the back of his chair.

“This can stay here,” he said with a smile.

She borrowed a t-shirt and slipped back into the underwear she’d worn with her dress, cute hipsters with blue and white stripes.  They peeked out beneath the hem of John’s smallest Islanders shirts as he followed her downstairs.

They rounded up drinks and some popcorn and headed to the couch.  Before Meghan could turn on the TV, John caught her hand.

“James and Steven had a fight at the gym today.”

Slowly Meghan released the remote control.  “What?”

“I’m only telling you because you’re going to hear about it.  I’m sure everyone in the gym heard it.”

She leaned in close to John and waited for him to lift those downcast eyes.  “What about?”

“I guess they went out the other night, when we were at your parents.”

“I’ll say.  James was hungover as shit the next day and being a jerk about it.”

John tilted his head.  “Well, I guess Steven was wasted too, and James left him on Kaylynn’s doorstep in the middle of the night.  He spent the night puking in her bathroom.”

“Oh God,” Meghan’s shoulders sagged.  “His new girlfriend?  I’d get pissed if he did that to me, and I’ve known him a hundred years.”

“Yeah, well, James told Steven it didn’t matter because it wasn’t going to last.  He said Kaylynn’s not going to Tampa so who cares.”

Meghan’s mouth fell open.  Steven asked Kaylynn to come to Tampa?  When had that happened?  And she said - what, maybe?  She must have.  So there was a chance she was going to up and move to Florida because Steven was…

Well, he’s Steven, Meghan thought.  Of course she would.  In theory it was easy - you didn’t let a guy like that go, or a little something like thousands of kilometers stand in the way.  But she was sitting on John’s couch in John’s house holding John’s hand, proving the same assumption could be very much a decision instead.

John rubbed his thumb into Meghan’s palm.  “Is that crazy?  That he asked her?”

Oh God.   Meghan’s heart was pounding.  It didn’t seem crazy that Steven had asked Kaylynn, it seemed romantic and swoon-worthy like a fairy tale.  Yet here she was in her own version of that story with a guy who very much wanted to be her Prince Charming.

I am so much more transient than Kaylynn.  Meghan didn’t have a job holding her back.  She didn’t even really have a life in Whitby once the boys all left for the season.  If Kaylynn was considering it, shouldn’t she?  But Meghan had promised she would decide where to go based on all the factors.  John wasn’t supposed to be her biggest concern, but she kept finding him at the top of the list.

Maybe it’s a case of: once a number one pick, always a number one, she thought.

John sat very still, waiting for her answer.  She finally looked him in the eye.

“No, John, it’s not crazy.”

“I want you to come to New York,” he blurted out.  “Just in case I wasn’t clear before.”

“I know,” she said.

John felt like he’d gone over the drop on a roller coaster.  “I understand it’s hard and you have a lot to think about.  And I actually do think it’s kind of crazy, but I don’t care.”

Meghan laughed weakly and John folded his arms around her.  Now that it was out in the open and Meghan hadn’t run away, he felt pretty good about his chances.  After all, she’d always said New York was on the list.  They stayed that way for a minute, letting the enormity of such a simple declaration set in.

“What else happened?” she finally asked the front of his shirt.

“Steven called Neal a hypocrite for what he does to you.”

Meghan’s eyes locked on his before John realized what he’d said.  Shit.  They weren’t even his words, he shouldn’t be repeating them.  The part about Kaylynn was something Meghan cared about, so he’d told her.  This part would just make her mad.

“What, he what?”

“Come on, Meg.  James told you not to date anyone - not to date me - but he does whatever he wants.  Steven said he was all over girls at the club, when the boys night was his idea in the first place.”

She felt the tightness of rage spread through her chest.

“Meanwhile if he knew you were here…,”  John left out all the other specifics, he’d already said too much.  Meghan’s eyes had narrowed.  

“Well I said I didn’t want to be with him,” she pointed out.  It felt hollow, like a lie even though it was true.  She had also told James to be better but he was clearly missing that mark.  “So he shouldn’t care.  He can do whatever he wants.”

“He cares enough to want to punch Steven for saying it.”

Meghan slumped back angrily and covered her face.  James tried to actually fight Steven?  One of his closest friends, whose hands and other parts were as precious to the game of hockey as gold to a bank?  

It made her sick that James’ hypocrisy was so widely known that she was a point to be made in a fight.  And Meghan was letting it happen.  She had half a mind to call James right now, hand the phone to John and let them argue while she drove home and kicked Neal in the balls.  Everyone - including her - was giving him the chance to grow up and he couldn’t fucking do it.  Maybe he didn’t want to.

“I will kill him,” Meghan said, knowing there was more than one way she could do that.

____

It upset John to see Meghan angry, and he had no idea how to act around a mad girl.  She sat stiffly next to him, pretending to watch TV when he knew she wasand fuming.  

Good, maybe if she’s mad she’ll stop being so nice to Neal and just fucking tell him already.  John had omitted the part of the story where he’d nearly done that himself.  He put an arm around her shoulders and she let it stay, without returning his embrace.  After an hour of awkward positioning, she sighed.

“I’m sorry.  I hate this.”

Uh oh.  Crying was worse than angry.  John quickly pulled her into his lap - he didn’t need her permission to hug her, not when he could pick her up.  She came willingly this time, her body limp and heavy.

“You didn’t do anything.  He was being a dick and someone finally told him to shut up.”

“You’re right, I haven’t done anything,” Meghan said sarcastically.  “This is exactly why.  He can’t be reasonable.”

John lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.  “I broke up the fight today.”

“WHAT?!” she gasped.

“When James tried to run at Steven, I stopped him.  There was no one else around.”

Meghan was horrified.  James acting out was one thing - if he hurt himself, it was his own fault.  Hurting Steven was something else.  But the idea of John throwing himself in the middle was the worst.  A stupid locker room scuffle could be disastrous for a pack of boys who could not afford to be injured.

“I’m tougher than you think,” he said.  The shy note in his voice, the quiver of his lip when he said it, made tears well in Meghan’s eyes.  John was not one to talk himself up.  That was supposed to be her job.

“I know you are,” she said softly.

Crying again.  John gave her a swift kiss to stem the flow.  “If Neal flips out, I can handle it.  For both of us if I need to.  He’s not going to do something stupid.”

Meghan rolled her watery eyes.  “Yes, he is.”

“Okay, you’re right,” John laughed.  Meghan did too, and it sounded like victory.  “Let me worry about it.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that, though.”  

John groaned in frustration.  Why did she insist on trying to protect him?  “I would rather have you than him, how’s that?  I don’t care if he doesn’t like me, Meg.  I fucking hate the Penguins anyway.  And the Olympics - well I’ll just have to score more goals than he does.  You forget I have a lot of friends on that team.”

He stopped, took a breath.

“And you forget that I like you.  A lot.”  More than a lot.  “He can hate me all he wants so long as I have you.”
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