The Tales of a Professional Hockey Player

Chapter 46: Exhaustion

~Eleanor~

His eyes are glassy. So vitreous I could see my own reflection in them. The circles under his eyes are deep and purple. So profound I am sure the tears caused by his constant yawning could gather in them. When he walks, his shoulders are scrunched forward. I am afraid to see him fall every time he gets up. He hasn't said a word since the plane took off an hour ago. In fact, he barely spoke since yesterday and, when he does, his voice is raspy as if sandpaper was rubbed on his throat repeatedly during the night. He stares at the seat in front of him, only blinking every ten seconds letting his eyelids shut a little longer every time. He put his shirt on upside down this morning. He sighed so deep when I told him, like taking his shirt off and putting it back on was one of the most challenging things he had to do. He enveloped himself in the grey sweatshirt I had stolen on the day we went to the hospital with Ophelia. In fact, that sweatshirt had belonged to me for the past few months, until he decided to take it back this morning. I didn't say anything about it. He looked too lost with his eyes fixated in front of him as he put the shirt on. We got up really early this morning to finish packing up for our eight am flight, he deserved to be comfortable. He doesn't look up at me when I run my hand through his hair to pull the strand away from his eyes.

"Hey," I whisper in his ear before pressing a kiss under his lobe. He hums in response. I saw him close his eyes when I touched him. "Give me Oph and sleep. We still have four hours to go." We are on our way to Victoria for the holidays. Christmas is in three days, and we have busy days ahead of us. He should take advantage of every quiet moment he can get.

He shakes his head, his eyes still closed. "I don't want to wake her."

"You should have sat next to the window, though. People wouldn't come talk to you if you weren't next to the alley." I begged him to take the window seat when we boarded the plane after I saw how people looked at him in the airport. About fifteen people came over to him to ask for a picture, but I saw a dozen more take sneaky pictures of him. He declined over and over again saying it would portray a bad image of him if he made himself unavailable to fans. "Connor said that," he keeps saying every time I tell him to wear a cap or sunglasses.

"I'm fine, El." No, you're not. That's what I want to tell him. He's not fine. He hasn't been fine for a few weeks now. Ever since our stay at the hospital, he hasn't been sleeping well, but he keeps the same routine even working out harder to continue performing the way he has been. Usually, he recovers from the lack of sleep the hockey season creates during the holiday break, but, this year, he is as busy during the break as he is during the regular season. He accepted one project after the other, not daring to say no because he was too afraid the offers would stop coming. Then the thing with his father's job happened and I know he has been stressing obsessively over how the Christmas family gathering will go. His mother told him how upset his father was, and something changed in Ben's eyes.

"I keep disappointing him, El," he told me one night a few days after he got the news. I still don't fully understand what he meant because how could someone be disappointed by him? It's unimaginable for me to think of a parent not be proud of his son who's dream came true. A part of the light I kept seeing in Ben's eyes since he moved to New York with me disappeared that night and it hasn't come back yet. I miss that twinkle in his eye that reverberated in his smile and in mine by the same occasion.

I let the subject go, well aware that, if I push him too far when he is as tired as he is, he'll just end up being mad at me. So, I press another kiss on his cheek and lean back in my seat. I look at Ophelia, peacefully asleep in her father's arms, her cheek pressed to his chest, his fingers softly playing with the hair on the back of her head, and I wish I could hold Ben like this. I wish I could provide the same safe environment for him he does for our daughter. I want to shield him from the young boy and his father who just stopped beside his seat to ask for an autograph. "You're my favorite player this year," the young boy says, his admiration for Ben showing in his eyes. Ben does his best to have a conversation with the boy because that's what he would have wanted a pro player to do for him when he was a child, but I see in his eyes that he just wants them to leave. It's only when Ben yawns for about ten seconds that the father takes hold of his son's shoulders to pull him away. "Your mom will wonder where we are. C'mon Gabe." The father and his son thank Ben profusely before leaving. Unfortunately, they encouraged more people who would have been too shy to come first to get up and ask for an autograph or a picture as well.

"I don't want to wake my daughter up, so I won't take any pictures. I am sorry guys," Ben mumbled at a group of siblings who had made their way over to us seconds after Gabe and his father left. No matter how careful he was, the constant noise did wake Ophelia up. He handed her to me, and, the second Ophelia wasn't in his arms anymore, the three siblings came back to ask for a picture. I wondered where those kids' parents were because I would never let my child bother someone this way. Still, Ben took a picture with them, faking his best smile.

"I'll go to the bathroom, and then you're switching places with me, ok?" He looked desperate. I nodded. Out were the good principles of keeping a good image with his fans. On his face, the only thing that was plastered was a good old "leave me the fuck alone."

He still didn't sleep even when he sat next to the window. Ophelia refused to fall back asleep, so we had to entertain her, and, of course, nothing we brought did the trick. We took turns walking down the alley with her since the only thing that stopped her from fussing was watching the other passengers as she walked down the aisle. If she was lucky, they would look back at her and smile, but most people slept or kept watching their movie. We landed in Victoria at one pm New York time, but it was ten am in British-Columbia. The jetlag didn't help Ben's cause. The day was going to last for three more hours than usual which meant even more time separated him from his bedtime.

My father picked us up from the airport, refusing to let us take one more "impersonal cab ride." I made most of the conversation to let Ben sit in the back of my father's car.

"Your mother is really excited to see you, Ella. She hasn't seen you since Will's wedding and you barely called the house since then." I refrain the urge to say she didn't call either when my father rubs my thigh with his hand. "We miss you, kiddo."

"I miss you too, dad." And it's true. I do miss my father. I let the unclarity of my words express what I should mean. I let my father think I miss them both but know that I mean him more than her. He starts talking about the students he had this semester and how his classes went. I look in the rearview mirror to see Ben looking for something in the diaper bag. I was hoping he would take advantage of the twenty-minute ride to my parents' house to take a nap, but Ophelia probably prohibits him from doing that. I promised my father we would have dinner with them tonight, but Ben and I booked a hotel room close to my parents' house for the week. It prevents us from looking like we prefer a family over the other by choosing to stay with them. We also rented a car that mt father picked up last night. I think he did this to obligate us to go to the house after we landed. We need the car, so we need to spend time at the house with my parents.

We are having dinner with Olive and Alex tomorrow before we start the Christmas festivities on the twenty-fourth with his family. We come back here on the twenty-fifth for the traditional Christmas party with my family. It won't be relaxing, and judging by Ben's face, it won't be the fun festivities we expected.