The Greatest Assist (Patrick Kane)

11| A Friend In Need

Chelsea

It's not like Patrick not to answer his phone. Usually I text him when I wake up to see if he needs anything for the day. I am still his personal assistant even though most of the times it doesn't feel like that. Then after talking for a while he goes to morning skate or workouts or something and I work on his calendar or go through his email and tell him any important messages form his agent. There's a lot of people who still want to get ahold of him even after this past summer so I make sure he sees what he needs to see. By noon we've talked a few times and I've had seen him at least once.

But today was odd because he never answered any of my texts or calls. He didn't show up to morning skate and even though it was optional it was never a option to him. He always went. So I decide to stop playing games and drive myself over to his apartment. I get up there and open the door and as soon as I do I smell beer. While I usually like the smell this was like pure alcohol, like a keg exploded in here and it was just nasty. I felt like I walked into a college frat party but there was only one guy in here, that's what scared me.

I close the door behind me as I cover my nose to try and shade myself a little. I walk in and find Patrick passed out on the couch. There was a whole case of beer next to him empty and the TV on so loud I'm surprised someone didn't call to complain. I quickly move my way through the sea of bottles and turn the tv off. I turn to Patrick who was completely knocked out on his side. Mouth wide open snoring almost as loud as the TV was.

In that moment I didn't know what to do, do I leave him, do I call for help? If someone saw him like this it could hurt his reputation with his friends, the few people who still believed he wasn't this guy I see laying on this couch. But this is happening because the fact that people don't know that this is what he does allows him to do it. Do I slap him until he wakes up like they do in the movies? I wasn't sure what the protocol was for drunken gifted athlete who was supposed to lay off the drinks but did the exact opposite.

Finally I decide to shake him until he got up. It took a while but he slowly started to come to. He sits up on the couch before looking around. His eyes red but open as he takes in his situation.

"What happened" me mumbles as he rubs his eyes.

"I was just about to ask you that" I assure him.

He looks around for a few seconds before seeing the mess he made. He lets out a long groan as he grabs a handful of blonde hair. "What day is it" he asks.

"It's Tuesday October 12" I explain.

"And I'm in my apartment right" he questions.

"You are" I assure him.

"Oh good. That means I didn't get in any trouble" he sighs.

"Oh no, you're in trouble. But you're in trouble with me" I explain.

His expressions grow confused as he looks at me weird. "What did I do to you" he wonders.

"It's not what you did to me. It's what you're not doing for yourself. Patrick this isn't healthy. This is border line alcoholism. This isn't a "it'll pass eventually" problem, this is a "you need to go get professional help" kind of problem" I accuse.

"No it's not! I'm fine, really. I can stop if I want to" he argues.

"You told me that last time! What you had was supposed to last you a month and that's already all gone then you just finished another case. You're going to make yourself sick" I insist.

"All the guys drink, I'll be fine" he blows me off.

"Since when was being like everyone else fine with you" I wonder. "Listen. I think you are a amazing hockey player and a good guy. I whole heartedly believe that you're not that man people make you out to be. I've gotten to know you, watch you and see you try and do better. And you have been, you were doing so good.

But if this is what you want, if you want to throw your life away for a drink that has only hurt you then I can't be your personal assistant anymore. I'm not going to sit by and watch you throw your life away. There are so many people in your corner and you can't even see them because you surround yourself with terrible things for god knows what reason. These drinks have done nothing for you, you're just too hurt to admit it. But you're missing practices and you're not answering me. I'm not going to spend my life fighting for a future you don't want to have" I explain.

For the first time I saw tears in his eyes as he looked at me. The regret was all over his face as his bottom lip starts to quiver. I felt really bad for upsetting him but I would rather have him upset than in the hospital with alcohol poising. "I'm sorry" he whimpers.

"I know you are Patrick. But I don't want you to get better for me. I want you to get better for you. So you can make memories with your friends and actually remember them. So you don't give people a excuse to put you down. So you don't throw away everything you worked your whole life for because you were drunk and did something you never meant to do.

As much as it sucks that your life is under the eyes of everyone. You can't deny these peoples curiosity as to who you are. But if all they see is you drinking on days of practice or out on the town all night they're going to see nothing but the bad. Don't let them paint you as the bad guy" I beg.

"I won't. I'm sorry" he says.

"Please stop apologizing" I beg.

"But I am sorry" be defends.

"For what" I question.

"For making this so hard for you. If you were someone else's personal assistant you wouldn't have to worry about them pissing their life away" he explains.

"I chose this job knowing it was going to be hard. Change is difficult and there's still so much for you to learn. But I want to be here when you finally have a break through, when you finally stop asking who you are and you start telling people who you are. But in order to get there we have to get through this" I promise.

"I don't deserve you" he hiccups.

"No, you don't" I agree making him laugh. "But I'm not giving up on you Patches. I know those feelings you have that you try to wash down with beer is still in there. And I know you don't want people to see them. It doesn't even have to be me you tell them to but you need to talk to someone. Anyone" I beg.

"I want you" he says softly.

My heart starts to beat against my chest as he looks down at me. I purse my lips together afraid I don't know what will happen next. "I don't know anything about therapy or anything like that" I insist.

"I don't want a therapist, I want a friend" he claims.

"That I can do" I promise.