A Box

I stared over at the arena doors, my chin resting in my hand as Peyton chattered on to me about something. I felt her smack my arm, causing me to jump back in alarm and look at her.

“They’re not coming here, Hanna,” She reminded me with a shake of her head. “They’re in Colorado now, remember? Remember how they left four days ago?”

I sighed, blowing my hair away from my face. “I know, it’s just that, well, I don’t know. I still have a hard time believing that any of it actually happened, you know? I mean, we went to science world with 6 of the Pittsburgh Penguins. Matt Cooke threw gum at my face. I still think I dreamt it half the time.”

Peyton rolled her eyes, bending down to grab my purse as she began to dig through it, raising protests from me. After a few seconds she stood back up, handing me something. I cautiously took it from her hands, looking down and recognizing the tiny square as the picture Jordan, Sidney and I had taken. Sidney grabbing his hair, Jordan yelling something at the camera and me looking completely bewildered. I’d spent a lot of time looking at that picture in the past few days. It was still hard to believe that one minute I was bowling with all 6 of them, and the next I was letting Max take pictures of all of us together before they said their goodbyes and headed into their hotel.

“Hey, look on the Brightside,” Peyton tried to suggest, “In another month and a half, Jordan, Flower and Sidney will all be back for the Olympics. I’m sure Max will come down with them, since they’re his buds, and it will be like a mini-reunion,” She said, trying to cheer me up.

I gave her a half smile. “Yeah, except we have no way into the Olympics, they’ll be surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people and I doubt they’ll even remember us.”

Peyton frowned, “Come on, Hanna. The guys spent two full days with us. You had Jordan Staal sitting on your lap in a photo booth! You’re not as forgettable as you seem to think you are.”

“I feel like we’re in a really bad movie when you talk to me like that,” I told her, laughing.

Peyton was distracted by the group of techs walking through the giant doors, asking where to start setting up for the concert taking place at the arena that night. I took the moment to sneak off for my break, walking into the back break room and letting out a sigh as I sat down. There was only a few other people in the break room, meaning that they had control over the one tiny TV set up on one of the spare chairs that my boss had brought in a few months ago, just in case we were working during a really important hockey game.

I warmed up my pasta that I had for lunch and sat down, alone, at the table farthest from where the three guys in the lunch room were. I stabbed my fork into a few of the noodles and frowned at the pasta. The truth was, I wasn’t even that hungry. I was just so sick of Peyton bringing up the fact that the guys weren’t here anymore that I had to get away, even if it meant taking my break two hours into my eight hour shift.

I heard a chorus of laughter from the three guys were sitting, earning my attention for a brief moment as I glanced up at them, my eyes scanning towards the TV for a split second before I looked back down at my lunch and took a bite. I had only half chewed the pasta when my head shot back up again so I could see the TV, almost choking on my mouth full of food. I abandoned my plate, practically leaping out of my seat to land in the vacant chair at the table the guys were at. I gave them an awkward smile, “Hi. I’m just a big fan.”

The one kid looked from me to the TV before back to me and frowning. “You’re a fan of Max Talbot?”

“You’re not?” I questioned, scoffing at the eye roll he shot me. “I will have you know that he is not only fashionable, but also a fantastic bowler.”

“I would be more impressed if he played hockey a little better,” One of the others at the table quipped.

I opened my mouth with the intent of launching into a vicious attack on this boys mother in a desperate attempt to defend Talbot’s talent, but I was distracted by Sidney popping up on the TV screen, his hair sticking up in a few odd places as he had clearly just taken his helmet off. His whole face was still glistening with sweat, and as he listened to the questions he was being asked his chest heaved up and down while he tried to catch his breath. I wasn’t even listening to the questions, or his eventual answer, as I merely stared at the TV.

“So creepy,” the guy next to me mumbled, half laughing when I simply turned my head to look at him before turning and looking back at the TV.

I snapped out of my gaze and turned to send a glare at the kids way. “Don’t judge me.” I glanced back at the TV, just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, and was disappointed to see that Sidney’s interview portion was already finished and they had moved on to an interview with Brent Seabrook from the Chicago Black Hawks. “Okay, you can have your man time back,” I mumbled, standing up from the table and moving back to where my almost untouched pasta sat, taking me seat once more and letting out a sigh.
---------------

“What the heck is that?!” I asked loudly, startling Peyton as she hadn’t noticed me walking out from the break room.

“It’s a box,” She said matter-of-factly. “What did you think it was? A cat?”

“I mean, what’s in it? Who’s it for? When did it get here?”

She rolled her eyes, “Oh, right. How did I not see that that’s what you were really asking?” She put down the folder she had in her hands and pushed the box along the counter to me. “It got here about two minutes after you snuck off into the break room, it’s addressed to both of us and I don’t know what’s in it because I haven’t opened it yet.”

I stared at the box for a moment, looking at the postage on it. It had no return address, which made me even more curious then I was to begin with. I studied it for another moment, as if looking at it would somehow let me know what was in it. I finally turned to look at Peyton, seeing the way she was smirking at me. “Can I open it?” She nodded, turning her attention back to phones.

I grabbed a pair of scissors, using the blades to slice the tape holding the box shut open and then carelessly tossed them to the floor. I pried the flaps of the box open and peered in, disappointed to see that the contents were still hidden by piles of Styrofoam. I grabbed the trash can and dragged it over, grabbing handfuls of the macaroni shapes Styrofoam and tossing them into the trash can. After a good ten handfuls, I finally spotted something. I reached in and pulled out the contents of the box, grinning as soon as I saw what it was.

Peyton peered over, noticing that there was two, and let out a small laugh. “Of course those assholes send us their jersey’s.”

I grinned, looking at the two jerseys. “Well, would you rather be a Staal or a Talbot?” I laughed, “I don’t know why I’m even asking,” I mumbled, handing her the Staal jersey.
I checked back into the box and was surprised to find another small box, as well as a piece of paper. I simply picked the box up and dumped it out, watching the paper float down onto the floor. “That didn’t work out like I thought it would.”

Peyton let out a small laugh, leaning down to pick up the piece of paper and clearing her throat before she began reading out loud. “Dear Hanna and friend,” She stopped, rolling her eyes. “Well, I guess we know that the nice ones weren’t involved in writing this letter.”

I laughed, “Oh, come on. If they’re willing to go out of their way to insult you it probably means they were a fan of you.”

Peyton shrugged, returning her attention to the letter. “Just wanted to thank you guys for taking time out of your non-existent lives to show us around Vancouver. Tangers is still talking about the lollipops at that Candy shop, and Staalsy has framed the photos he, Hanna and Sid took because he loved them so much. We’ve got out fingers crossed that you girls will show up at the Olympics somehow so we can see you again. If you ever end up in Pittsburgh, stop to see a game and hunt us down. We’ll spend our few free hours showing you all of the wonders out here.

Take care,

Maxime, Jordan, Sidney, Kristopher, Tyler and Marc-Andre.” Peyton sighed, “Well, that was kind of sweet.”

I smiled, taking the letter from her hands and scanning over it once more. “I think it’s an incredibly nice gesture. I mean, how many hockey players would take the time too-”

“Oh my God!” Peyton interrupted.

I looked at her, seeing her staring down at the floor. “What? Did you break something?”

She looked up at me and then pointed down at the ground, forcing me to glance down as well and repeat her outburst. “Oh my God.”

Peyton leaned down to pick the two tickets that neither one of us had noticed fall from the box. They were paper clipped together with a tiny note attached, which Peyton took and read aloud. “You didn’t really think I’d make you pay for your own tickets to get over here, did you? Call this number when you’ve finally gotten it.” She grinned, looking back up at me. “And guess which one of them went to all the trouble to buy our plane tickets?”

I took the two tickets from her, shaking my head. “First class seats. Wow, Bylsma goes all the way.”

Peyton frowned. “You think Dan Bylsma did this?”

“Well, he went through all the trouble of giving us the team credit card, renting a van and sending us a basket full of delicious muffins afterwards, so I just assumed…” I explained, shrugging afterwards.

Peyton smirked at me. “Well, that’s very assuming of you. And it makes sense,” She agreed, picking up the box and beginning to break it down. “But it was Sidney who went through all of that trouble.” She picked up the now broken down cardboard and sent me a knowing look as she began to head off towards recycling. “I’ll leave you to do the calling.”

I watched her walk off for a second before glancing down at the paper she had left behind on the counter with a phone number scrawled across it. I blew my bangs off of my forehead and scratched the back of my neck before letting out a small chuckle, “You are quite the charmer, Mr. Crosby,” I muttered, picking up the phone and dialling in the number.