seven

Fiona stared blankly at the ceiling.  She and Jon were a tangled pile of body parts, still catching their breath.  His lips found her throat and kissed the racing pulse beneath her skin.  

“Fi,” he said quietly.  Nearly squashing her in the process, he rolled free and lifted her onto one side, then untied her hands for the first time in almost an hour.  She didn’t even care.  Jon gently turned her face, so close they were nearly kissing.  The anger was gone, drained away with all that release and replaced with worry.  His arms went around her slack body.  

“Hey.  Did I hurt you?”

She squeezed her eyes shut.  He might want to kill her, the same way she wished she’d given him a black eye for storming into her house, but Jon would never really do anything to hurt her.

“No.”

“Good,” he sighed.  “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” She laughed softly, letting him roll her into a tight hug.  He was all soft skin and hard muscles, warmth wrapped around her like a drug dripping into her veins.  But it nagged at her.  It had been too easy.  She had been too easy.  Jon would probably disagree - he didn’t have to break and enter to get laid most nights, didn’t have to restrain someone to keep his pretty face intact.  But when it came down to business, Fiona had spread her legs and moaned like every other whore in his little black book.  And that was not what she wanted from him.  But now was not the time for that fight - Jon’s breathing evened and pulled her right down into sleep.

In the morning, Jon woke wrapped around a pillow.  He shifted toward where he was sure Fiona’s warm body lay, only to find himself alone in the rumpled bed.  

“Hey,” he said, scratching his head as he came into the kitchen.  Fiona couldn’t help but smile - he’d put his shorts on, but it did little to hide the fact that he was still Jonathan Toews.  She was peeling an orange at the counter, dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt.  He came around behind and rubbed his hands along her upper arms, kissing her softly on the ear.

“Come back to bed.”

Dear God in heaven, she thought.  I am not this strong.

“Jon, I think we should....”

Have a heart-to-heart and figure out what the fuck we’re doing before I’m in love with you and you’re still banging every slut who can count to nineteen.

“No.”  

His tone brooked no argument.  As if expecting a fight, Jon had equipped himself with his most deadly weapons - bare chest, hulking shoulders, huge thighs all on display.  Even the outline of his cock beneath black boxer briefs would have been enough to render most women senseless.  Fiona would have to say her piece to all of his pieces at the same time.  Jon turned her around, still holding her arms.  

“We just changed everything, Jon.”  She tried to keep the hope from her voice.

God damn it.  He had the sweetest face.  He could sell a bicycle to a fish and leave them thinking it was a deal.  Fiona understood how and why the girls came running, and why they were always surprised to be shown the door.

“Don’t, Fiona. Whatever you’re thinking, just come back to bed.”  

And then Jon realized immediately he’d taken the wrong approach.  The mostly-naked part had weakened her defenses.  But telling her what to do had called up fresh reinforcements.

Or we changed nothing.  Not a single goddamned thing!

“Stop it!  Stop acting like I’m your fucking property and you can do whatever you please!”  She tried to shake herself free and failed.

“You didn’t seem to mind it last night,” Jon continued, unable to get through his head that was just the problem.

Fiona growled.  “That’s right, just like always.  Take what you want and the morning after be damned.”

A genuine look of surprise plastered itself across his face like a billboard.  He had never considered that she had wanted anything but exactly what he’d given her last night.  It was, after all, every girl’s fantasy.  At least every girl he knew.

“But you... you never told me to stop.”

“I didn’t want you to stop!” She wrenched herself free and backed around the counter, putting something between them.  “I wanted you, Jon.  But I didn’t want it that way, just because you were mad I went on one date with another guy....”

“I saw you kissing!” he hissed.  Jon didn’t appreciate being called out and belittled for his actions, even if he deserved it.

“You forced your way in here and tied me up over a kiss?!” she was shouting now.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  I’ve been in your bed a hundred times and you never did anything!  One kiss.  I’ve seen you do so much worse!”

And so she had.  Fiona had done worse herself just to help him out.  Jon had asked her for so much and she’d given it willingly.  He’s never considered paying any of it back.  Now he had zero moral high ground, just the hole he’d dug for himself.

Jon set his jaw.  “I’ve had about enough of you and Viktor.”

There it was, the asshole gene that had come to Jon through nurture, not nature.  The life and times of an NHL superstar had bred him a little harder.  Jon saw it differently - what was his, was his.

“I haven’t had any of him at all.  Yet.”  She managed a smirk.

Jon stepped around the barrier and forced her up against the counter.  The last time he’d flattened Fiona with his hips, they’d been naked in the shower.  His short hair managed to be a ruffled mess that spoke volumes about what they’d done to each other.  And he’d always had bedroom eyes.  Right now Fiona could see the hard edge lurking behind them.

“Don’t.”

“You are not my boyfriend.”  She sounded more confident than she felt, considering how easily he was pinning her to the wall.

“But I am his captain.”

Fiona wasn’t cowed.  “You wouldn’t stop him.  Because I never tried to stop you.”  

She slid a hand down between them, cupping his penis.  Jon opened his mouth to protest but had to bite his tongue.  This was what he’d feared - all those girls who had paraded through his bedroom, coming back to haunt him.  But not in the tabloid or pregnancy-scare way he’d had nightmares about.  Instead, it was possibly worse.

“I’ll stop,” he said quickly.  Of course he should have done that before, and without offering or being asked.  It wasn’t a favor to her.

She raised an eyebrow.  “Doubtful.”

He didn’t know what more she wanted. “And I’ll tell everyone we’re together.”  

“You will not say a single fucking word.  I’ve heard you talk about girls, Jon, and I will not be another story in the locker room.”  As she spoke, she tightened her grip around his shaft.

An image flashed through his mind of Keith and Seabrook holding him up while Kane punched him in the stomach.  They all wanted dirty, private details of Fiona’s bedroom life, but wanted to learn them first-hand.  

“You wouldn’t.  The guys would never.”  

“It doesn’t matter, Jon.  We’re not together.”

What if I want to be? he thought.  But it sounded too needy and desperate - he’d expected her to ask that question, or demand it.  It she said ‘together or nothing’ he’d have taken it in a heartbeat.  But she never even offered.

For the first time ever, it dawned on Jon that Fiona might not actually want him at all.

But she always...

“So what, you’re going to Stalberg him against me?  He likes you, Fi.”  Jon clung to the single argument he could win.  “He definitely doesn’t think you were with me last night.  Or that you’re giving me a hand-job right now.”

Fiona turned her light stroke into a sharp, firm grip.  Jon groaned.

“He probably hoped you were touching yourself in the shower....”

Squeeze.  Yelp.

“And he’d love to see you face-down, ass-up like that....”

She twisted, he barked in pain.  The kind that almost felt good.

“Careful, baby,” he growled into her ear, trying to reel the situation back in with an innuendo that he’d gladly make reality.  “I’ve still got that tie.”

“And you promised to use it if I called you Viktor.”

____

“YOU WHAT?!?!”  Abby shouted, dropping her voice as she exhaled hard.  “Shit, you’re going to make me go into early labor.”

Fiona put her head down on the table in the coffee shop.  “I didn’t do anything!  But I did let it happen.  I mean, I didn’t call the cops when he broke into my apartment and....”

“You can’t call the cops if you gave him a key,” Abby was trying not to smile.

Fiona blushed.  “Or if you’re tied up.”

“WHAT!?!” Louder this time.

Fiona covered her face with one hand and told the entire story with enough detail to make Abby slap the table and repeatedly demand she shut the hell up.  When Fi was finished, the pregnant woman was pale-faced and slack-jawed.

“I married the wrong Blackhawk,” she said, shaking her head.  The two women allowed themselves to laugh in embarrassed disbelief for a moment.  Both knew there was a lot more to this story - that’s why Fiona had called for an emergency meeting while the guys were at practice.

“Wow, Jon was really moody at the party but I had no idea he was that upset.  You guys were kind of throwing it around though, Viktor all mooney-eyed and following you everywhere.  You know how Jon hates to be lose.”  Abby looked at Fiona like, Right?  “But at least he was there, it’s not like you and Vik were doing anything behind his back.”

She crumpled.  “Viktor kissed me.  When he drove me home.”

Fiona bit her lip as if the taste of Viktor’s kiss might still be found there.  It was long gone thanks to a hard scrubbing from Jon.  It seemed like a million years ago the big, gentle Swede was kissing her softly, like he was asking permission.  After the night with Jon, it seemed a long time since anyone had waited for her answer.

“Oh my God.  You like him!”

“I don’t know....”

But Abby was locked on a scent.  “You’re such a liar!  No wonder you were glowing at the party - he couldn’t stop touching you.  And no wonder Jon was so pissed!  He’s going to kill Viktor when he finds out.”

“That is the problem!” Fiona slapped the table a little too loudly.  She glanced around but no one appeared to be eavesdropping as they dished dirt on the local hockey heroes.  “Why does Jon get to flip out?  Why does he get to say who I go to a party with, or who I kiss?  Why does he even care, when he’s fucking a different girl in every city and half of Chicago?!”

“Shhhhhhhhh, sorry.  I know, I know.  But... it’s Jon.  He’s private and lonely and he when lets something in, he can’t let it go.  Like Kaner.”

“That is an excuse, not a reason.”  Fiona rubbed her eyes.  “And he saw the kiss, driving past, so he already knows.”

Abby grimaced, twisting her pretty face into a mask of pain.  Fiona figured she’d find the same if she looked at herself in the mirror this morning.  Everything had gone from zero to disaster in a single night.  And she still couldn’t decide if it had been a good or bad idea.

Too much of nothing or too much or something.  Better than waiting.

“So he’s already killed Viktor, that’s what you’re saying?  And they’re all in Chicago PD interrogation where Patrick’s not allowed to text me?”

Fiona had thought the same as Jon stormed out of her apartment that morning.  It was less dramatic when all the leaving you could do was push the UP button on the elevator, so she allowed him the show of slamming the same front door he’d let himself in through hours earlier.  She quickly texted Viktor a short warning: “Jon saw us say goodbye.”  Then she turned off her phone and hoped Jon had taken her warning about not telling the team to heart.

“Viktor’s so... ugh!  He’s so perfect!  Any girl would be lucky to date him, and he probably remembers their names and calls them back!  Anyway, I warned him.  This isn’t his fault, it’s mine.”

“Vik knows what he’s getting into...,” Abby let the thought trail off, wishing she’d never started talking.

“What?” Fiona demanded she finish her comment.

Abby shrugged.  “I was going to say: He knows what he’s getting into, going after the Captain’s girl.  I’m sorry, Fi.  I know you’re not, and I love you so much, but that’s how I think of you, I guess.  As Jonathan’s girl.”

Fiona looked up at the ceiling and silently asked for strength.  Because that was exactly how, in the context of the team, she’d always thought of herself.  Until now.

“Well you might have to change that.”

“But you and Jon,” Abby said like it was the title of a story; already printed and therefore unchangeable.  “You always knew what he was like.”

Fiona tore the edge of her coffee cup between painted fingernails.  “I... this is so stupid, Abby.  I am so stupid.  I’ve seen Jon with a million girls but... I thought I was different.  To him.  You know?  Like we’re such good friends it would be something more if we ever got together.  But it wasn’t.  It was Jon doing whatever Jon wanted, telling everybody exactly how it will be in Jon’s world.  And I did it! I rolled over like every other gold-digging star-fucker notch in his bedpost.  I hate myself for that.”

She paused, drawing a deep breath to slow her racing heart.  “You know the worst part?  Not last night, but this morning.  Light of day, Abby, when it’s just me and Jon like always and he’s still telling me what to do. Come back to bed.  Don’t argue.  He actually thought I would listen!  He thought I would carry on doing what I was told, like every other girl begging for his attention.”

“So what did he tell you? He wants to you to be his sex slave?  Or he loves you and wants to have ten thousand babies?”

Fiona looked up from her pile of shredded paper.  “But I didn’t let him tell me anything.”

Abby raised her eyebrows, suitably impressed.  Not many people got the chance for Jonathan Toews to tell then what to do.  And few, if any, ever turned it down.  Fiona was obviously struggling but Abby was glad she had taken the path less traveled.  She reached over and squeezed the Irish girl’s hand.

“Good for you, Fi.”  Abby couldn’t help but add, “That must have been some kiss from Viktor.”

Fiona allowed herself a rueful smile.  “I might need to be reminded.”

____

In the hour between being kicked out of Fiona’s and leaving for practice, Jon paced a groove into his living room floor.  He snapped a hanger in half.  He threw a teacup into the sink so hard it shattered.

That had obviously not gone as intended.  Well, the sex had been epic and he’d expected nothing less - especially the rough stuff, he dreamed of girls who liked to play hard.  But  Fiona was supposed to wake up smiling in his arms and tell him everything was over now, there was no more running or searching or using the wrong girl’s name in bed.  No more calling for help.  But he’d fucked it up by treating her the same way he’d treated those girls - like she should be grateful to be with him.

She was grateful, of course, the way fantastic friends were for each other.  And he was absurdly thankful for her.  There was no need prove it to each other.  But he’d let his jealousy get the best of him, his need to control the things around him.  And Fiona would never be controlled - that’s why he was so drawn to her.

Fucking Stalberg!

Viktor was in and Jon knew it.  Jon had stood thinking about it so long that he’d be late to the rink if he didn’t speed.  He ripped his coat from the closet and another hanger lost it’s life.

____

The phone looked small in Viktor’s huge hand.  His heart had done a little canter around the ring when Fiona’s name popped up on the screen.  Kissing her had seemed like a rash decision at the time, especially since the heat had been rolling of Toews all night.  He knew when he was pushing his luck.  But once they were alone, Viktor felt there was an opening.  And Fiona had kissed him back, just for a second.  He had not been wrong.

Fiona: Jon saw us say goodbye.

He exhaled heavily.  There would be hell to pay, probably in secret lest Jon let the entire team know he’d been challenged.  The Captain was about keeping the team together, he’d never run the risk of division.  

Viktor also wanted to get another chance with Fiona.  He’d siezed an opportunity by inviting her to the party but all their energy had been focused on everyone around them.  He hadn’t been alone with her for longer than it took to drive there or back.  This thing with her and Jon - whatever it wasn’t officially - was a serious obstacle.  Wishing English was his first language, he struggled for a few minutes with a reply that was a little flirtatious and also respected the trouble he’d gotten them both into.

Viktor: If I survive, it was worth it.

He arrived early to practice, got half-suited up quickly and went about working on his equipment like any other day.  The room filled in steadily but Toews was nowhere to be seen until almost every stall was occupied.

When the Captain stormed through the door, it was like the OK Corral just announced a shootout.  A long, dark jacket streamed behind him as he charged across the middle of the floor.  Muscles flexed at the corner of his jaw; those brown eyes were furious.  Viktor stood instinctively, Jon never slowed.

Guess I was wrong, Viktor thought briefly.

Toews threw a left and Viktor let him, having already decided he could only win this fight by losing.  Fiona did not belong to Jon.  If he wanted to act like a kid whose candy had been taken away, let him.  Any explanation Jon gave would only serve to deepen the hole he was in.

Still the punch connected with enough force to make Viktor stagger to one side.  Instantly the testosterone kicked in and Seabrook and Bolland grabbed Jon by the shoulders, hauling him back.  Hjalmarsson stepped in front of Stalberg, ready to hold him off.  Viktor rubbed the spot on his jaw.

“What the fuck, dude!?” Seabrook yelled, but it was needless.  Everyone in the room looked from Jon to Viktor and back, remembering the party, remembering that red dress.  Jon practically dragged his teammates the three steps it took to get in Stalberg’s face.  Viktor had one inch and one pound on his friend - not much of an advantage.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Jonathan hissed.  An angry vein pulsed in his forehead and his face was flushed red.

Viktor stared right back.  “I’ll leave that part to you.”

___