famous last words | s. crosby

5; there's trouble ahead, i can feel it

Elliott's POV

I woke up early the next morning to the sound of an obnoxious phone alarm playing the generic little iPhone tune. Groaning, I rolled over and grabbed the phone. The screen lit up my face as I squinted to see the notifications; some from the variety of social media sites and hundreds of texts from my friends and family asking about Boston.

Tossing the thing aside, I dragged myself out from under the covers and managed to maneuver around the boxes to my clothes. I slipped on a pair of grey leggings and a white tank top, wrapping my jacket around my shoulders. I pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail and wrote a note to Anna telling her I'd be at the rink again and she was welcome to meet me there later if she wanted to.

It was 6:00 by the time I had made it down the stairs and to my car. Making sure my skates sat in the floorboard of my car, I took off towards the rink. I was getting more and more familiar with my surroundings and by 6:29, I was in the parking lot, texting Sid I was on my way in.

He told me to meet him by the locker room entrance, which he later explained was where I had been just a day earlier before getting the stitches.

When I got there, he-- or anyone else for that matter-- wasn't anywhere to be found; it confused me.

"Uh, hello? Anyone here?"

I turned around and came face-to-face with Sid, who was dressed for his upcoming practice later that morning. I couldn't help but crack a smile. He looked really good.

"Well, good morning, Mr. Crosby." I laughed, making eye contact with him, "What's the occasion?" I motioned to his practice gear, cocking an eyebrow.

"I don't know, I just thought we could both benefit some by practicing with each other. That, or we get nothing done and make fools out of ourselves."

I was thoroughly confused. He took the ice before I could even ask anymore questions. The only thing even remotely similar about our careers was the ice. Even the skates were made different.

But, I wasn't going to question his antics.

I was laughing as I laced up my skates and joined him on the ice. We skated around in silence for a few moments, though I could feel his eyes burn into my skin as I glided across the ice. I could hear him skate up to me and stop somewhere behind me. I stopped as well.

"You're it," He said, reaching out his arm and tapping me on my shoulder. A little smirk took over his face.

"Tag? What happened to 'practice'?" A cocked out my hip, placing my hand on it and raised an eyebrow.

"If you want to really dig down to it, tag can be practice. Y'know, speed, endurance. That stuff."

I paused for a moment, looking up at him before quickly slapping his arm and skating away, yelling, "You're it!"

I heard him start laughing as he began his chase. I kept looking back at him; he was still a good ways away from me. If I was faster than him, it'd be something I'd hold over his head forever.

Eventually, he caught up to me and scooped me off the ice. I screamed and wrapped my arms and legs around him, nervous little giggles escaping my lips. I clenched onto his jersey, the fabric bunched between my fists, "Sidney fuckin' Crosby, if you drop me, that will be the end of you!"

He skated over to one of the nets and placed me on the top of it, a smart-ass look on his face.

"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do? Kick my shins?"

I pushed against the crossbar and leaped back down onto the ice. I held up my fists before I started to punch him in his chest. He just laughed, and pulled me into a bear hug. I tried my hardest to maneuver out of it; I squirmed excessively and pushed my hands against his chest, though to my dismay he never budged.