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The season had been a fucking grind, and for the first time in years Kris felt every fucking minute of the season in his bones. It was even worse than last year when his heart had given out again, and then the sudden passing of his dad. There had been days when he woke up and just didn't want to get out of bed. The only thing that got him crawling out from cocoon of his sheets was the thought that he was letting down Cath and his kids, and that he was fucking over his team by being a useless pile of human waste.
He had felt like a fucking failure, he was a failure. His heart had given out, and his mental fortitude had been torn down by the guilt of not being there for the last minutes of his father. It had exacerbated an already unstable situation, it highlighted that he was a shitty husband whose wife lived in another country with his kids for most of the year. He was a shitty partner, and of course he was a shitty team member whose body was too broken to help them get into the playoffs. It was a shit of a year. But he had gotten through it because of Cath and his kids, because of Sid and Geno, and the support from so many others seeded throughout his life. The whole team had been there for his dad’s funeral, Flower had made it, had hugged him tightly and let him cry on his shoulders.
He had gotten through it.
This year was meant to be different. Hextall was gone, they had a new GM, the Toronto wunderkind who had brought with him a whole new management, they had traded for good players (they fucking got Erik Karlsson), and so many new conditioning and development staff to make sure they could get through a full season with minimal injury. They were meant to be fucking better.
It didn't turn out that way.
They had the talent, they had the experienced coach, but they just couldn't fucking pull it together for most of the season. The last ten games were solid, even great, they finally clicked, passes connected, pucks were going into the back of the net, and even their fucking PP had improved. But it had been too little too late. He had fucking tried, given everything he could, hollowed himself out to get them over the line, and it wasn't fucking enough. He wasn't fucking enough.
They didn't make it into the playoffs.
He and Geno had been at Sid’s, the three of them had watched the game that had ended their season, and they still had one more fucking game left. Had to get up the next day and play a game that meant fuck all.
Sid had to unravel Kris’ fingers from the tight fist he had them in. The pain a background noise over the sound of the fucking failure of a season.
“You know what the trainers said.” Sid’s head was lowered, focused intently at his fingers, as if he had x-ray vision and could see the ways that Kris had made the fractures worse by playing through half of the season.
He opened his mouth, tried to speak, but nothing came out.
Geno snorted from the side. “He feeling sorry for himself.” He flopped back into the leather couch, his body a long stretch of limbs against the white leather. A flash of pale stomach as he stretched his arms above his head and then lowered them over his head. “We out,” Geno muttered into his arms, voice suspiciously thick. “Fuck.”
“Fuck off.” Well he finally said something.
Geno sat up and growled, “Fuck you.”
Kris felt his lips draw back, felt the venom of words that wanted to spill out, and then he noticed Geno’s eyes. They were red and wet, Geno had been hiding his tears behind his arms. And suddenly the rage disappeared, and all he felt was weariness, every single season of hockey weighed on his shoulders.
“Both of you back off.” Sid's voice broke through the tension. Kris’ head snapped towards Sid, aware of Geno doing the same. Sid was pissed, lips in a tight line, eyes narrowed. His hands still gently wrapped around Kris’ fingers. “It was a shit season from all of us, we couldn’t get it together. That’s on everyone, not just one person.” His lips were pulled into a straight line. “We will do better next season.”
Kris felt his lips pull back in a grin full of derision. “I don’t need Captain fucking Crosby trying to make it better.”
A light pressure on his hand before Sid let go of his hand. His face had smoothed over with the facade of his media persona. “Then what do you want?”
“Not the fucking bullshit you say to the fucking media,” He snapped back. It drove him crazy, that Sid had been locked down tight this whole season, dealing with his shit alone when he should have been relying on him, but he didn’t because Kris wasn’t enough, was publicly fucking up. “Not this fucking Captain Canada act, maybe some actual real fucking emotions.” Fuck, he was being an asshole now, what was fucking new.
“I know you are ang-”
“I want some honesty.” Kris interrupted, sharp edged and so angry.
The media facade cracked, and Sid snarled, “What the fuck do you want me to say Kris? That we were shit this year? That we are getting old every fucking game? That I felt like I was getting slower by the fucking second out there? That no matter what the fuck I did it just wasn’t fucking enough?” Sid was breathing hard. “We are running out of time, we should have been fucking better this year, but we weren’t, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t fucking pull us together. What the fuck do you want from me?”
And Kris had no answers, he just wanted to lash out, to fucking get a real reaction from Sid. They had tried everything they could to win, but they couldn’t fucking do it. Nothing had worked this year, he had failed them.
And now he didn't fucking know what to say in the face of Sid's pained voice and the unleashed anger.
“Maybe don’t score on ourself,” Geno’s said, voice laced with sarcasm. Kris startled, turning around, he had forgotten there was a third person in the room with them. By the way Sid had looked shocked he had forgotten about Geno too.
Geno sat up, shoulders slumped, and looked at the two of them with tired red eyes.
It took several seconds for Kris to register what Geno actually said, felt the flash of hot shame and embarrassment, wanted to fucking punch the hint of a tired smile off Geno’s face. Maybe break his fucking nose. Before he could act on his thoughts, Geno let out a large sigh.
“We bad this year.” Geno looked down at his hands laid out on his lap. “Sick of being angry. Sick of fighting.” He stood up and walked slowly to Kris, Sid moved out of the way, tried to remove himself from the situation, Geno’s head turned sharply towards him, and Sid stopped his movement, sighed and stood where he was.
Geno continued his way towards Kris, ambled over till he stood in front Kris. He put his large hands over Kris’ shoulder. “You pay attention,” Geno spoke slowly, and Kris wanted to shake his hands off his shoulders, to walk away, but Geno held onto his shoulders tightly, and Kris knew from previous experience if he tried to walk away now, Sid was gonna fucking tackle him to the ground. “You pay attention?” Geno shook his shoulders to emphasise his point. Kris bit his lips, looked up, and nodded.
Geno kept looking at his face, searching for something and after several seconds seemed satisfied at what he found. “I say once. Listen. This season was not your fault.” He flicked his eyes towards Sid, “Not yours too.” Sid looked like he wanted to fight the accuracy of that statement, but thought better of it at Geno’s frown, and held back his words.
He turned his focus back to Kris, “You did good. But you can’t win by alone.”
“I didn-”
“Bullshit,” Sid snapped, “You did everything you could.” A long frustrated sigh. “We did everything we could. It just didn’t fucking work.”
“Exactly,” Geno agreed with a nod. “Don’t be fucking idiot. Not your fault.” Geno paused and his lips formed into a small smile, a hint of mischievousness. “Sid need to burn jockstrap, sacrifice to hockey gods.”
Sid let out a surprised goose laugh, and punched Geno in the arm. “Fuck you. That jockstrap is more important than you.” Kris couldn’t help the surprised huff of amusement that escaped him. Sid turned his whole body towards Kris, hands reached out to hold his hurting fingers once more.
“It wasn’t your fault Kris. The whole team was shit.” A small tired smile graced his face. “The whole team will do better next season.”
“We be better next year,” Geno said with conviction, a pause and then a thoughtful look appeared on his face. “Or we pass to goalies and let them score.
Kris laughed at the fucking absurdity of that statement. He laughed harder at the serious look of contemplation on Sid’s face.
These two fucking idiots. He had failed, but at least he was in good company.
... Endo ...