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welllpthisishappening · 6 years ago

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The Period of the Long Change (1/15)

It’s quick. One second she’s standing there and everything is fine and then Emma looks up and it’s not. It’s awful. And the lights are too bright and there are too many rooms and too many opinions and her phone won’t stop ringing because everything seems to be changing all at once. She’s never been great at coping with change. But, maybe, if she can just figure it out and stay right where she is, with Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, at her side, it’ll be alright.

It’s slow. One second he’s standing there and everything is fine and then Killian’s breath catches and it’s not. It’s terrifying. And the noises are too loud and there are too many questions and he can’t find the right answers to any of them, not sure how to cope with everything changing all at once. That’s never really been his forte. But, maybe, if he can just figure it out and stay right where he is, with Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations, at his side, it’ll be alright.

It’s another season and another challenge and Emma and Killian are both struggling to get over the boards.

Rating: Mature. Word Count: 7.5′ish this chapter and just…a lot in this story AN: Hellllllooooo, internet. Approximately a million years ago, @optomisticgirl requested a story where Killian got hurt, but like…not too hurt, with some angst and some dramz and I…never wrote it. UNTIL! Over the course of, like, two and a half weeks this past summer, I churned out this entire, vaguely ridiculous thing. This story is about an injury, so if that is not your jam, I get it. But there is also a lot more than just Killian being an idiot here. There’s still kissing, is what i’m saying. As always, your enthusiasm for this hockey team and hockey family and how much I enjoy writing about them blows my mind. Updates coming every Tuesday and Friday, as per usual. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

Also on Ao3 and FF.net if that’s your jam.

“Theodore Roosevelt.” “You’re making that up.” “I’m not!” “Theodore Roosevelt never came to Nashville.” Emma narrowed her eyes, twisting her lips and hitching up the kid in her arms. The same kid who, it seemed, was far more interested in the ends of her hair than the very bright lights and decidedly loud noise that downtown Nashville provided.

“Why would I make that up?” she asked, and they’d stopped walking completely now, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk debating the merits of a fact she’d looked up on the plane earlier that morning.

She’d totally paid for wifi.

And Killian had fallen asleep. With a different kid draped over his side and a a knee digging into, Emma assumed, several different organs, and it was so goddamn adorable Emma knew she’d never be able to even close her eyes, let alone get anything resembling rest.

So she’d looked up fun facts about Nashville instead.

And let Peggy keep yanking on her hair.

“I really do not believe that,” Killian continued, Matt clinging to his back with his arms tightly around his neck and his legs wrapped around his middle and they must have looked absolutely insane.

It was, probably, because of all the team-branded merchandise they were collectively sporting.

Matt hadn’t taken his Jones jersey off once in the last week, not since he realized he got to go to Nashville too and Emma wasn’t entirely sure he completely understood what the All-Star game was, but Roland had done a pretty good job of trying to explain it and none of it really mattered when they both realized they were going on the ice for the skills competition.

So Matt refused to take the jersey off and practiced slaps for the past week, some kind of almost slap shot that was, according to both Will and Killian, closer to a wrist shot, but their kid was four and the specifics weren’t important when it was so consistently adorable.

Emma’s phone was going to run out of storage space for photos by the end of the weekend.

“Are you suggesting I’m making up my fact?”

“I’m not suggesting you’re making up your fact, Swan,” Killian said, shrugging to try and make sure he wasn’t inadvertently choked in the middle of downtown Nashville.

“Then what, exactly, are you suggesting?” “That you’ve been duped by the internet.”

“I refuse to believe the internet would lie to me.” Killian arched an eyebrow, but Emma didn’t waver, just widened her eyes in response and they were almost inexcusably far behind the rest of the team now. She could barely hear Will shouting – which was probably for the best, honestly, because Emma was fairly certain he’d been talking about some kind of mechanical bull before and Ruby kept wearing a cowboy hat and the whole thing was just kind of absurd.

And kind of adorable too, but that was neither here nor there when Emma had her internet reputation to worry about.

“Where did you learn this fact?” Killian pressed, taking a step closer to her until Emma was pretty sure they were breathing the same oxygen molecules and her heart stuttered when he made a face at Peggy. “It couldn’t have been a very reputable website.”

“Why are you refusing to believe this?” Emma asked. “I swear to God. Teddy Roosevelt.” “That’s not an answer, love.”

She stuck her tongue out, but he made a face at her instead – a twist of eyebrows and lips and whatever he did with the color of his eyes when he teased her, made them more blue or something equally absurd – and Emma was disappointed she’d lost so quickly.

“I honestly can’t remember,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t, you know, Encyclopedia Britannica.” Killian laughed, loud enough to draw a few curious stares from several tourists, most of them sporting NHL jerseys, and one of them was a Rangers sweater because that was just the kind of life they lived at this point.

The guy gasped when he realized who they were.

And Emma had to bury her face against the bundle in her arms to stop herself from dissolving into several different emotions and sounds, most of which might have just been generic happiness.

“Holy shit,” the guy breathed, eyes wide and mouth hanging open and Killian stopped laughing when he swung Matt back onto the ground. “Oh shit,” the guy repeated. “That’s…um…sorry, sorry, Cap. That’s…uh…hi.”

Emma lost the battle against those emotions too.

That was disappointing.

She didn’t stumble when Matt slammed into her side though, which was a bit of a victory, and even managed to offer to hold the phone for the Rangers fan when he mumbled the request, staring at his shoes and the sidewalk like he was their kid and had just been reprimanded for swearing – more than once.

It took a few more minutes before he left, more quiet questions and hopes for another Cup run and there might have been an autograph request, but the rest of the team had finally realized Emma and Killian weren’t with them, and the guy nearly fell off the sidewalk when he found himself face-to-face with Will and Robin as well.

“Holy shit,” he said again, and Killian actually clicked his tongue.

Emma was going to laugh for the rest of the night. That would make it difficult for her to do everything she had to do.

She’d made some lists on the plane too – in between facts and absurdly overpriced wifi. She was totally going to expense it.

“Was Cap going to ground that guy?” Robin asked as soon as the fan disappeared, jogging back towards friends wearing different jerseys and expectant looks and Emma hoped he didn’t drop his phone.

He kept shaking.

She nodded, scrunching her nose and resting her arm on Matt’s shoulder, ignoring the way he squirmed against her. “Two minutes for roughing.” “Does that make sense?” Ruby asked. She was still wearing the hat. It might have been a different hat. She probably brought multiple hats to Nashville.

She probably brought Emma a hat to Nashville.

Emma was absolutely not going to wear a cowboy hat.

She drew the line somewhere.

“Of course it does,” Emma said. “He got that pre-checking look.” Will snickered, more than prepared when Matt moved towards him and jumped up, swinging him over his shoulders with practiced ease. “That’s definitely true. He does that thing with his mouth. It’s like his lips disappear.” “Oh, right, right,” Ruby nodded. “Were you going to check that guy for swearing, Cap? Because i don’t know if I’d be able to spin that. Bad press.” “Isn’t any press good press?” Roland asked, sporting a recently-bought Locksley jersey and several recently-acquired inches from a growth spurt that wouldn’t seem to end and Emma would have bet several thousand dollars and, possibly, one ride on a mechanical bull that there was a hockey puck in his pocket.

Roland almost always, inexplicably, had a hockey puck in his pocket.

It delighted Matt.

Ruby looked offended at the question, mouth falling open as her eyes darted from Robin to Regina and back to the teenager in front of her – a moniker that was recently acquired too – and, at some point, Emma had drifted back towards Killian’s side.

He tapped his fingers on her hip, hooking his chin over her shoulder and there must have been hair in his face, but he didn’t seem to mind and she really wished they’d been able to keep flirting.

Maybe she wanted to ground the jersey-wearing fan too.

“What have you been teaching this kid?” Ruby balked, waving her hand through the air and nearly taking out a guy who Emma was ninety-two percent positive worked in the Predators’ front office.

“God, Lucas, relax,” Robin muttered, corralling her arms. “There have been no press-based instructions or media relations. No one is encroaching on your territory.”

“Ok, that’s not what I said, at all.” “Eh,” Will objected.

“You want to voice that a little louder there, Scarlet?” “No, I do not. But you were doing those crazy things with your hands and if Cap’s lips disappear when he’s getting ready to check people then your hands develop minds of their own when you’re getting ready to take someone down via press release.”

Emma couldn’t mask her laugh, a trend she wasn’t sure she entirely appreciated, and whatever noise Killian made against her neck seemed to roll down her spine and settle in the very center of her, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Will grinned triumphantly.

“I am expressive,” Ruby said. “There is a difference. And I’d like the record to show, as it were, that I am the only one concerned about Rol’s potential for fines when he inevitably takes over the league from you ancient losers.” “Ancient losers,” Killian echoed, but the words got lost in Emma’s hair and her neck and hishands also appeared to have minds of their own, drifting dangerously close to the bottom of her shirt. With his number on the back.

Always.

Or indefinitely.

Or whatever.

Emma was totally going to ride a mechanical bull later.

And make sure they got back to that facts discussion.

“You heard me, Cap,” Ruby grinned. “Plus this is all your fault anyway because you were totally going to check that guy in traffic for possibly scaring mini-Jones with his brash language and now here we are, late for the plan and the fun.” “You didn’t even realize we were gone,” Emma pointed out. “Also, is there actually a plan?”

“Em,” Will groaned, but that might have been because of the fist dangerously close to his neck and he mumbled something that sounded like careful with the gloves, Dr. J under his breath. She didn’t realize Matt had moved at first. He was very quick. “It physically pains me that you do not remember the plan.” “I think that might be my kid’s fist.”

“Lucas and I worked hard on this. She bought a hat! I mean, look at how ridiculous that thing is.” “Hey,” Ruby snapped, but Killian was laughing again and possibly trailing kisses along the curve of Emma’s neck and she really couldn’t think when he did that.

“It is a little ridiculous, Lucas,” Robin reasoned, slinging an arm over Regina’s shoulders and she was smiling.

“She’s committed to the look,” she said. “It’s just…a very specific look for a very specific place.”

Ruby sighed, full of drama and feeling and, presumably, some kind of detailed plan that Emma hoped eventually included food because she was kind of starving and there were, already, at least thirty post-it notes stuck to the wall of their hotel room.

“The plan,” she said. “And Mattie if you don’t stop trying to strangle Uncle Will, we’re going to have a pretty serious discussion about ice time tomorrow.” Matt almost jumped back onto the ground, Roland letting out a low whistle when he rested a hand on the four-year-old’s jersey. “You’re not helping,” Emma muttered, but she was just met with a smile that was equal parts Robin and Killian and Roland Locksley was probably going to avoid any bad press in his career based on his charm alone.

Regina was very likely counting on that. It was probably factored into the metaphorical contract negotiations already.

“Sorry, Em,” he mumbled. Too charming. Way too charming. And she refused to accept responsibility when she sighed too, wrapping one of her arms around him and ignoring whatever teenage-noise he made when she tugged him against her chest and kissed the top of his hair.

“There is food involved,” Will promised, like that made up for everything. “And Lucas’ absurd hat makes a hell of a lot more sense when I tell you where we’re going.” “Oh God,” Killian muttered.

“Don’t do that, Cap. This is fun. We are having fun. We are experiencing things. Your kid is going to learn something.” “At a restaurant with a mechanical bull?”

“How do you know about that?” “Years of experience and how much you will not shut up about the goddamn mechanical bull.” “Wash that mouth out or I’ll ground you.” “You are not a father figure.” “Ok, first of all, that’s rude,” Will said, holding up one finger for emphasis. “And second of all, that is a blatant lie. Your kid wouldn’t be trying to strangle me otherwise. And–”

“–Oh my God, can we just go?” Emma grumbled, and the baby in her arms did not appreciate the influx of noise.

Will glared. “Third,” he said pointedly. “I know I can’t ride it, I am not an idiot. But Lucas can and so can Gina and so can Emma. And the Yelp reviews promised this place was good. Some kind of BBQ heaven where you can probably tell us things about Tennessee technique and how it differs from Kansas City.” “Is there a Tennessee BBQ technique?” Killian asked, flashing a smile Emma’s direction when Will sounded like an actual predator, growling low in the back of his throat.

“You’re antagonizing him on purpose,” Emma muttered. He nodded, tugging Peggy away from her side and making that face again, slightly stunned and a little overwhelmed and she was, at least, ninety-five percent positive he didn’t even realize he did it.

Every. Single. Time.

She fully expected her heart to explode at some point in the next three days.

Preferably after they got BBQ.

“Oh I’m absolutely doing it on purpose,” Killian said. “And It’s absolutely working. Always does. He’s way too easy.” Will inhaled sharply, twisting awkwardly so he could get both hands on Matt’s ears. “Don’t be an ass, Cap.” “Hey, c’mon.” “Ground me!” “Out of context, that’s really weird, isn’t it?” Ruby asked, laughter clinging to her voice and Roland’s whole body was shaking against Emma’s side. Regina had actually moved her hand over her mouth.

“And did Scarlet actually just say something about Yelp reviews?” Robin asked. “Why does Scarlet know what Yelp is?” “You know what?” Will snapped, rolling his whole head and Matt had moved to his side, clinging to him like some kind of koala in a Jones jersey. “You guys can find your own food for the rest of the weekend. I’m done with this. I hope Lucas gets mercilessly made fun of on the internet for her stupid hat.” Roland whistled again, Matt grinning because he definitely had no idea what was going on and Will was, at least, consistently entertaining. Ruby kicked him. “Stop insulting my hat,” she yelled. “It is on theme. And do not act like you also don’t have one.” “Aw, c’mon, Lucas!” “Wait, what?” Killian sputtered, eyes bright and mouth nearly on the sidewalk, and Robin wasn’t so much as standing next to Regina as she was completely supporting his weight now. “Do we all get hats?” Emma turned, staring at him skeptically. His eyes definitely got more blue. “Do you want a hat? And, Scarlet, for whatever it’s worth, the rest of the weekend is already all planned because that’s how All-Star weekend works and you have already agreed to several team events.” “Did I?” “Enthusiastically.” “I have no memory of that at all.” “That’s because you don’t listen,” Emma said. “Talk to your agent.” Will gaped, but Regina just moved her hand back to her side and shrugged. “You said yes. I’m not in charge of your life, Scarlet. How many events is it, Emma?” “And how many post-its have already been sacrificed to the cause?’ Ruby added knowingly.

“Enough,” Emma muttered, but Matt’s shout was louder and lots seemed to echo off the actual, flashing neon signs around them.

Ruby’s eyebrows moved – and reeked of judgment. “It’s fine,” Emma promised, but that was only kind of half true and she was only kind of running on fumes and a few hours of sleep and it was so much better than it was a few months before when Peggy seemed intent on setting several records for screaming and crying in consecutive nights.

This weekend was going to be good.

She was convinced.

This whole season was going to be good. Something about the talent and the years since the last Cup run and Emma was a little selfish because she kind of wanted their kids to see them win.

In the metaphorical and literal sense.

She’d read a lot of internet headlines in the last few weeks.

“Why don’t we head to the restaurant?” Regina asked, but there was a hint of something to her voice and Emma resolutely refused to meet her gaze. Or Killian’s, eyes boring into the side of her head at the same time his fingers traced absent-minded patterns on Peggy’s side.

“Yeah, ok,” Will said quickly. “We’re not that far anyway. Super good, super warranted Yelp reviews. You guys’ll see.”

“C’mon, mini-Jones,” Ruby said, holding her hand out expectantly for Matt. He took it without question.

Regina hummed, eyes still staring straight at Emma, and she licked her lips, letting Roland go so he could dissect Killian’s chances of winning the speed competition with Will and Robin. She didn’t move.

“So,” Killian said softly, as soon as the rest of them had moved halfway down the block. “Teddy Roosevelt, huh?”

Emma laughed, letting out the air she’d absolutely been holding and she didn’t want to be tense. She wanted to be as happy as she absolutely was, but there was still a lot to do and two kids at the All-Star game for the first time, and she should have slept on the plane.

“You don’t think it’s a real fact.“ “Eh, if you’re willing to believe it, then so am I.” “That’s absurdly romantic and possibly dangerous.” “I’m not sure where I see the danger is involved,” Killian countered. He rocked towards her, fingers brushing over the curve of her jaw and into her hair and that was probably where Peggy got it from. “Ok, tell me the fact again, even if you are taking my side of things.” Emma blinked. “How do you figure?”

“You’re always team-based facts, love. I’m here to provide information on the city and possibly the state of Tennessee–”

“–And Tennessee BBQ techniques.” “I’m really not sure if that’s a thing.”

“Better look it up,” Emma suggested, but the words got caught in her throat when Killian ducked his head.

She wasn’t really breathing when he kissed her, was more than willing to suffocate in the middle of the goddamn sidewalk if it meant he kept doing whatever he was doing with his tongue and his fingers dancing across her skin, just underneath her shirt, but Emma swore her lungs actually relaxed and she might have exhaled against him, like she wasn’t absurdly stressed out for the four fan events she had to run in the next forty-eight hours.

“That’s really not fair,” Emma mumbled, and she felt him smile against her, tugging her closer and trying to stay balanced with a baby in between them and there was a metaphor there that she wanted to ignore for several more minutes of uninterrupted makeouts.

She shivered.

Killian hummed, brushing his lips over hers again and Emma closed her eyes, trying to make sure her lungs continued to function and Matt shouted from the end of the sidewalk.

“You’re scaring your children for life,” Ruby yelled. Her hand was still wrapped up in Matt’s, the smile on her face obvious still.

“Absolutely worth it,” Killian muttered, and Emma bit her lip. It was absurd, really, all things considered, after actual years and two kids, but the flirting was still easy and constant and he was probably going to win the speed competition just so he could show off in front of her and their kids and Nashville might be her new favorite place in the world.

Emma kissed him that time. “Charmer.”

“That’s almost too easy too.”

“I’m sorry I took your fact job,”

“I promise that’s not something you ever have to apologize for, Swan. I am curious about Theodore Roosevelt though. Did he go hunt a bear after he drank this supposed coffee?” “Oh my God, that’s not true either. He wouldn’t kill the bear. That’s where we get teddy bears from, right?” “I have no idea.” “Some paragon of historic virtue you are,” Emma said, pointedly ignoring whatever laws of gravity his eyebrows were currently defying. “I’m going to tell Liam. And you’re never going to hear the end of it.”

“The fact, Swan.”

“Fine, fine, so Teddy Roosevelt is here in Nashville, which was founded on Christmas Eve in 1779, by the way, so you’re totally off and–” She rolled her eyes when he looked at her, something that was almost shy of patient with just a bit of expectation and, maybe how much he’d also still like to be making out in the middle of the sidewalk. Emma hoped there was no Page Six equivalent in Nashville. “Anyway,” she said. “Teddy is here and drinking coffee at the Maxwell House Hotel when he says it’s ‘good to the last drop,’ someone overhears him, thinks, ‘Wow, that’d make a really good catchphrase,’ and now, here we are.” Killian nodded seriously, smirk tugging at the ends of his mouth and Ruby sounded like she was actively plotting their pre-dinner murder a few feet away. “You know that’s exactly what they said?” he asked.

“Yes,” Emma nodded. “Without question.” “Of course.” “You got any Predators facts to back it up? If we’re just going to change things completely.” “The rules switch was your decision, love. I was just sleeping.”

“Sounds like a no.” Killian shook his head, another quick kiss and the smirk wasn’t so much a smirk as it was full-blown genuine happiness when Emma chased after him. “We’re going to be late,” he said. “And Lucas sounds very serious with those threats. But the Preds did play in Japan once.” “Wait, what?” “Swan, did you not know that?” “You didn’t know about Teddy Roosevelt.” “Because I’m still not convinced Teddy Roosevelt was an undercover slogan writer.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “When did they play in Japan?” “The start of the 2000-01 season. Against the Pens. Two games in Tokyo and both of them finished 3-1. They each one a game.” “Symmetrical.” He chuckled, an arm around her waist and fingers still dancing on her skin, but Emma fell into an easy rhythm next to him when they started walking. That was probably a metaphor too. “And,” Killian added. “Roosevelt was hardly the only present to hang out in Nashville. Andrew Jackson, Andrew Jackson, and James Polk too. They were all horrible people, well, maybe not James Polk because I have no idea what he ever did, but Jackson for sure.” Emma nodded, stopping just short of Ruby and Matt and she didn’t have to ask before taking Peggy away from Killian so their son could climb up his side.

“We ready to eat now?” Ruby asked.

“Yeah,” Killian answered, and Emma’s smile seemed to move across her face easily. She was going to have to buy more post-it notes. “Let’s get out of here before anyone else sees your hat and makes fun of it.”

No one did, in fact, make fun of Ruby’s hat – although things got rather close when they realized the bag she’d been carting around was filled with those hats Will had been talking about and Emma’s flew off when she barely lasted five seconds on the goddamn mechanical bull.

Regina made it twenty-six seconds.

It was, apparently, some kind of record.

And the BBQ was good, no matter what type of sauce it actually was, because there absolutely, positively was no such thing as a Tennessee way, it was Nashville technique and Memphis technique and tomato-sauce based – or so both David and Liam claimed when they were both, separately, FaceTime’d for argumentative backup.

“You going to actually sleep tonight, love?” Killian asked, several hours and two sleeping kids later. He grinned when he saw her, tucked under a small mountain of blankets and a different t-shirt with his number on the back, and Emma tried to nod convincingly.

It didn’t work.

Open book or those years of experience and–”Did Mattie take off his jersey?” “Absolutely not,” Killian said, taking a step another step towards the bed and if it weren’t for all of those things that made it absolutely possible for him to read her, she probably wouldn’t have even noticed.

As it were, they operated on some kind of two-way street of relationship feelings and blatantly obvious flirting and knowing each other and Emma didn’t miss the way his step shook slightly, eyes just a bit unfocused and gaze a bit hazy and he shook his head once, like he was trying to get rid of several different types of cobwebs.

“Killian,” Emma said slowly, climbing across the bed. He flinched when her hand landed on his chest. “Hey, you ok?” He didn’t answer immediately, just blinked once, twice, three times, and he was breathing through his mouth, soft, but challenged and Emma tried not to hold onto his shirt too tightly.

That didn’t work either.

“Fine,” Killian said, voice clipped and Emma’s pulse stuttered when the word seemed to shake its way out of him.

“Maybe Ruby should be talking to you about good press and bad press. That wasn’t a very convincing quote, Cap.” “I don’t need to be convincing when it’s the truth, Swan.” “You want to try again, then?” “I’m fine, Emma,” he said, wrapping a hand around her wrist. He closed his eyes though, shoulders shifting slightly when he inhaled and Emma’s mind was racing, trying to figure out what the hell was going on and how many hours of sleep they could possibly get if she spent the next forty-five minutes, at least, interrogating him.

Killian seemed to realize his mistake as soon as her name was out of his mouth, eyes snapping open so quickly she was briefly concerned for the state of his eyelids, and his grip tightened a fraction of an inch, tongue darting out between his lips.

“Fine,” he repeated, but Emma got the strong, and vaguely terrifying, feeling that he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

“Yuh huh.”

“I promise.” “What happened?” “Nothing.” “Killian!” “Nothing, Swan,” he muttered, and that was an even worse quote than the first few combined, quiet and not quite articulate and her heart appeared to be trying to work its way out of her chest. “You need to get some sleep, love.” She groaned, falling back on her heels and rolling her whole head in response and he’d really gotten ridiculously good at making that face – God help their kids when they did actually start to get grounded. They wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to deflect on me.” “I’m not.” “If I yell again I’m going to wake up Mattie and then we’re really never going to get any sleep because he’s going to come in here and we’ll both end up rather bruised and battered in this surprisingly small king size bed.” “Can a king size bed be small?”

“I’m sure it can when it’s also filled with a four-year-old and his magical, flailing limbs.” “The magic part’s pretty impressive,” Killian said, lips quirking up and Emma huffed when his deflection almost worked. “No such luck, huh?” She shook her head. “A valiant effort on your part, though.” “Ah, at least there’s that.”

He didn’t shake or wobble or any other verbs that weren’t great for a professional hockey player making his sixth All-Star appearance, but Emma wasn’t entirely prepared for him to lean forward, nudging her onto her back until he was hovering over her. She smiled when she dragged her heel over the back of his calf, earning a quiet groan for her efforts and a few curse words he would have chastised their friends for.

“That mouth, Cap,” she whispered, pushing her fingers into his hair and maybe they were both to blame for Peggy’s habits.

That sounded better anyway.

“I can’t think when you do that.” “That’s absolutely the point.”

Killian hummed, hands moving and hips moving and Emma gasped when his lips found that one, particular spot behind her ear. He twisted, staring at the portable crib that had taken them far too long to construct that afternoon and the sleeping kid in it, seemingly convinced they hadn’t woken her up or scarred her for life.

“You’re going to have to be quieter than that, love,” he mumbled, and she barely heard him over the rushing in her ears and the feel of him everywhere and the king size bed was ridiculously comfortable.

“Then you need to not be such a tease,” Emma countered.

“That’s half the fun.” “Not when you’re working on borrowed time.” “Nah, it’ll be alright. He was exhausted. And more than happy to fall asleep after a detailed discussion of how the accuracy challenge works.” Emma laughed before she could consider what kind of absurd pillow-talk this was, but her pulse was still doing something stupid and she’d put half a dozen different internal organs through several emotional wringers in the last few hours and she was pretty positive her right thigh was bruised from her fall off the bull.

She gasped when Killian’s fingers brushed over the spot, and she’d never seen him move that quickly – head jerking up and eyes filled with concern and she didn’t even get her promise offine out, which, really, didn’t seem very fair.

He moved slowly, like he was suddenly terrified she’d evolved into glass, clicking his tongue when he saw the mark. “Why didn’t you say you got hurt?”

Emma rolled her eyes, well aware Killian couldn’t see her when he was staring intently at her thigh. “I don’t think that counts as hurt,” she argued. “Not really. I was just incredibly bad at staying balanced.” “That’s not true.” “Five seconds.” “Five and a half.” “Were you counting?”

He widened his eyes, smirk turning slightly lecherous and Emma absolutely swooned – possibly melting into the pillows and the blankets. “Watching,” Killian corrected. “Admittedly a little intently.”

“Only a little?” Emma shrugged when he glanced at her, and they were honestly so ridiculously good at flirting with each other, it was a miracle they managed to get anything else done. “A lot,” Killian muttered, dropping his head back to her leg and Emma wasn’t sure what noise, exactly, she made when his lips traced over her skin, but she felt his lips move and she had to bite the side of her tongue. He moved slowly, and maybe even a little reverently, brushing around the bruise that appeared to be a bit more purple than Emma was used to. It was like being on fire and doused in ice water, all at the same time, every kiss sparking under her skin and in the center of her soul, which, really, was just absurd, but she loved him an absolutely absurd amount and loved their life more and she was so goddamn exhausted she was probably delirious.

So, honestly, Emma couldn’t be held accountable for her own thoughts.

And, really, they should have expected it because whatever Killian was doing was probably illegal in several different countries and, possibly, in Tennessee and Emma had to let go of her tongue at some point and they both laughed when they heard the footsteps.

“Da….” Matt said, dragging out the word and leaving off the last letter, a tried and true technique when he didn’t want to sleep and, especially, didn’t want to sleep in his own bed.

Emma grinned at Killian. “Absolutely, totally exhausted and asleep, huh?” He shrugged, kissing her hip and rolling back to his side, and she couldn’t quite keep her anger in her, the sight of an enormous Jones jersey on their son doing something particular to all of her heartstrings.

“What’s the matter, kid?” Emma asked.

Matt wavered, rocking back and forth and looking anywhere except his parents. “It’s…dark and…”

“What? Noisy?”

Killian choked, squeezing his eyes closed, and Emma elbowed him sharply in the side. He wrapped an arm around her waist in retaliation, pulling her flush against his chest and they’d, finally, managed to wake up Peggy, cries echoing in the room and the darkness and Matt was still frozen in the doorway.

“Now, you’ve done it,” Emma growled, but Killian just burrowed against her neck and and her hair and they were absolutely destroying their kid’s collective psyche. “Is that what it was, Mattie? Too loud?” He shook his head slowly. “No,” he mumbled. “Not noise.”

Killian tensed. And Emma knew what it was.

It was too quiet.

Nashville was, after all, not New York and there weren’t as many sirens or cars outside the window or even voices, people walking by their usually calm block no matter what hour it was.

It wasn’t home.

Maybe Nashville wasn’t Emma’s favorite place in the entire world.

The bed creaked when Killian moved, propping his head up on his hand and keeping his arm around Emma. “C’mere, little man,” he said, waving Matt into the room before climbing back off the blankets to try and quiet Peggy. Matt didn’t need to be told again, flying across the few feet of hotel-provided space and Emma barely moved her arm out of the way in time. “Don’t flail around too much, ok?” Killian asked. “Mom’s already bruised enough as it is.”

Emma scowled at him, but that anger didn’t last long either – it never did when he started making faces at Peggy. “You want me to do that?” she asked, but he shook his head before she’d finished the question.

“Get some sleep, Swan. We’re good.” “Yeah, we are.”

It was the best she’d slept in weeks – eyes fluttering open for a few moments when Killian climbed back into bed, pressing a kiss to her temple and he couldn’t really get his arm back around her waist when Matt had claimed, at least, nine-tenths of the bed, but he made an effort.

And the first of the four fan events went off without a hitch, a very old phrase that Ruby made fun of Emma for as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but the crowd was happy and the chain restaurant wasn’t a jerk about the size of said crowd and all three New York Rangers All-Stars smiled in every single picture they took.

There were an absurd amount of pictures.

And Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers and captain of the Metro All-Stars again and father of her painfully adorable children, kissed Emma Swan, New York Rangers director of community relations, fan experiences and events while in uniform in the hallway outside the home locker room of the Bridgestone Arena.

“Skate fast,” Emma mumbled, tugging on the front of his jersey and ignoring Will’s commentary while he did his best not to dislocate one of his shoulders. Matt was, naturally, on his shoulders.

Killian grinned. “Always.”

Ruby, to her credit, didn’t make fun of the blatant and slightly public display of affection once they settled into the press box, refusing to give up Peggy even for a moment, but her eyes kept darting towards Regina and it only took one event for that to get incredibly annoying.

“Alright,” Emma said. “Let’s have it.” Ruby tilted her head. “Have what?”

“You going to reprimand me for my bad press or destroying my kid’s minds or whatever? Because I don’t think Peg will remember and Mattie absolutely does not care when there’s ice to worry about and–” “–Wait, what?” Emma blinked, brows furrowed and confusion settling between her shoulder blades. “What do you mean, what?” “What the hell are you talking about?” “This,” Emma said, waving an impatient hand through the air. Ruby’s mouth twitched. “Did you text Reese’s about it too? Should I expect several detailed messages later?” “Only if they’re about how much David wanted to come to Nashville, but couldn’t get time off.” “He tried to get time off?”

“I mean, not really,” Ruby shrugged. “Plus they’ve got Leo to, you know, obsess over anyway, so, there’s that.” “They are super obsessed with that kid,” Emma agreed. “Reese’s takes more pictures of him than I do.” “Which might be saying something,” Regina muttered. She smiled when Emma glared at her.

“Ok, seriously. If this isn’t about the makeouts, then what is it?” “You think we were having secret, silent conversations about you making out with your husband?” Ruby asked skeptically. “For real? Em, you do that all the time.” “Constantly,” Regina added.

“Like. Literally every home game. I’m pretty positive Scarlet and Locksley somehow bet on the total number of times they’d be almost disgusted by how stupid into each other you and Cap are.” “You know you haven’t gotten anymore eloquent over the years,” Emma said.

Ruby shrugged again. “That’s not a bad thing. My supposed lack of eloquence or how much time you do actually spend making out with Cap. But you guys make cute kids, so I can’t fault you that much.” “That sound a bit like you’re picking favorites, Rubes.” “If you tell Mary Margaret then I will do something ridiculous and drastic. And it’s not so much favorites as it is the fact that mini-Jones clearly likes me the most. You can tell Scarlet that.” “Is it weird that you guys argue about this?”

“I really don’t think so.”

Emma hummed noncommittally, eyes flitting towards the ice and the small crowd against the boards she knew her kid was in the center of. Roland had two sticks in his hand, resting the smaller one on his shoulder as he skated backward, and Matt had one hand in Killian’s glove and the other in Robin’s while Will filmed the whole thing.

Heart explosion, right on cue.

Matt did his best to keep his balance, wobbling despite the hands and the support and the rest of the All-Stars cleared a path in front of him – some unspoken command because Killian Jones was, absolutely, the face of the league even years removed from an improbable gold medal run.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen,” Ruby mumbled, but she had to shift Peggy to try and wipe her cheek on her shoulder, and Emma didn’t try to argue.

It was dumb and perfect and Scarlet was mic’ed up, someone in the box turning up the TV broadcast when the camera panned to the moment.

“Right, left, Dr. J,” he said. “You gotta pick up some speed before you can run.”

Matt nodded seriously, like he was getting ready for a penalty shot in a series-clincher, and Killian’s eyes darted towards Robin before they both pushed lightly. There was no more stumbling. There wasn’t even a hint of fear. Matt Jones, four years old and certain his dad was the greatest player to ever play any sport, moved on the ice like he was born there, which was kind of true.

Roland cheered, both arms thrown into the air and caught on camera and Ruby mumbleddumb no less than twenty-two times while discreetly crying and ignoring her phone when Mary Margaret, presumably, texted about it all.

“You ever going to tell me what you were Morse-coding about then?” Emma asked, reluctantly pulling her eyes away from the ice to stare at Ruby.

She sighed. “Your phone hasn’t rung yet?” “Should it?” “Em.” “I legitimately don’t understand the question.” “I really thought she would have called by now.” “She said she was going to,” Regina said, like any of this made sense and Emma wasn’t waving both her arms in the air in a pitiful impression of Ruby and an air traffic controller. “Maybe she got tied up with All-Star stuff.” “Who?” Emma asked. No one listened to her.

“I mean, that’s kind of a stupid excuse, don’t you think?” Ruby grumbled, and Regina made a noise that might have been an agreement. “She was really interested.” “She said that? Those exact words?” “Verbatim.” “Huh.” “Who the hell are you talking about?” Emma demanded, but she may have been shouting from the ice for all the good it did her and, really, she should have been paying more attention to the ice.

And Will was still mic’ed up.

“Cap,” he yelled. “Cap! Holy fu–”

The NBC broadcast barely cut him, staving off a very angry response from the FCC and several hundred families, but Emma didn’t care about any of that, eyes widening and breath catching and she was still moving her hands through the air when her gaze snapped towards the closest TV.

She thought it was Matt at first – was positive something must have happened, some wayward skate or an All-Star who didn’t get that memo about getting out of the way, and he’d never really learned to stop, and the boards weren’t very forgiving to a four-year-old – and Emma wasn’t sure how much more damage she could inflict on her lungs.

It wasn’t Matt.

And Emma was never entirely sure how she didn’t fall over.

It probably had something to do with Regina’s arm around her shoulders and Ruby’s quiet assurances that it was fine, it’s all going to be fine, Em, but she never really knew.

The whole thing seemed to happen impossibly fast.

One second Killian was standing there, skating behind Matt and the next he was on the bench and Emma could barely see him, a crowd around them and a face that she dimly remembered as the Hurricanes athletic trainer.

Emma didn’t blink. She knew she needed to blink, knew her eyes were going dry and her mouth was hanging open, but nothing seemed to work or respond and Ruby was still mumbling words in her ear.

Killian didn’t get off the bench.

Will had moved at some point, Matt clinging to him with his face buried in his neck and Roland a few feet away, his hand on the back of a jersey with Jones plastered across it. Emma’s phone rang. She didn’t move.

“Em,” Ruby said slowly, but she she just jerked her head in response, not quite a shake or a nod or anything except the absolute terror her whole body was flushed with.

“What happened?”

“I don’t–” “–Did you see what happened? Why isn’t he getting up? Is he still on the bench?”

Ruby had to use Regina as leverage, pushing up on her shoulder to stand on the balls of her feet, and she nodded without looking back at Emma. “Yeah,” she said, tone clipped and quiet and Emma couldn’t think about that without wanting to cry.

She still wasn’t sure she’d blinked yet.

“But what happened?” Emma pressed. “They were…everything was fine and ridiculously cute and…”

She cut herself off, clamping her jaw closed so tightly she was sure she’d done permanent damage to her teeth. Ruby turned around. “What?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”

Emma swallowed, closing her eyes and trying to will away images of the night before and slightly shaky steps and a hazy look that hadn’t seemed quite so troubling when it was forgotten in makeouts and bruises and they’d promised it was fine, just a few days before the Christmas break and a hit that kept Killian off the ice in the third period.

Nothing was wrong.

Nothing had happened.

Emma blinked – and felt the tears on her cheek.

“Hey, uh, guys.”

They all spun at the sound of Robin’s voice, standing in the doorway of the Predators’ press box in his socks and his jersey and he’d never been that out of breath, even after overtimes and playoff wins, and he couldn’t seem to look Emma in the eye.

“How did you get up here?” Ruby asked. “And where are you skates?” “Uh, in a stairwell.” “You took your skates off?”

“Yeah.” “What happened?” Regina asked sharply, voicing the question Emma could feel stuck in the back of her throat. Ruby was still holding Peggy. She wished she was holding Peggy. Her feet wouldn’t listen to her brain.

“Emma,” Robin continued, rushing over her name like he couldn’t waste time lingering on the letters. “You’ve got to come downstairs. Now.”

She blinked again. Which, honestly, just seemed unfair.

“Bad?” she asked, and it was the worst question she could have come up with, but she’d never had any media training and it was the only word her mind could come up with.

Robin nodded. “He passed out on the ice. I don’t…it was bad, Em. They were trying to figure out what happened and get him back up and I just…you’ve got to come back down with me.” “Back up?”

“Lost consciousness for a couple seconds.” Emma exhaled, body sagging forward and they’d drawn an audience, several dozen eyes widening when Robin walked into the box. He laced his fingers through Emma’s, a small smile on his face when she didn’t do anything except keep crying. “C’mon,” he said. “Scarlet’ll watch Mattie. Lucas, you’re…” “Yeah, yeah,” Ruby promised. “Go, Em, we’ll be down soon.” Emma didn’t say anything, didn’t trust herself to say words that weren’t tinged with something that felt a bit like despair, and Robin didn’t let go of her hand while they walked down fifteen flights of stairs.

He left his skates in the stairwell.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #blue line change #athletes are idiots #like #they're dumb #so let's keep that in mind going forward

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listo5-blog · 7 years ago

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List O'5 Amazing Nashville Predators Memorabilia To Show Support For The Predators!

List O’5 Amazing Nashville Predators Memorabilia To Show Support For The Predators!

NHL Nashville Predators Men’s Big & Tall Short Sleeved Poly Screen Tee Liked by a lot of Predators’ fans, this tshirt seems to be a perfect clothing item for hot days and also to put on when going to the gym or on intense physical activity days! Even though it may seem see through when held up, it does not seem that way when worn. Fits very well by relaxing on the body, especially for those…

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#nashville predators #nashville predators cap #nashville predators flag #nashville predators garden flag #nashville predators hat #nashville predators memorabilia #nashville predators merchandise #nashville predators merchandize #nashville predators official merchandise #nashville predators official merchandize #nashville predators socks #nashville predators tee #nashville predators tshirt #nhl nashville predators #show support nashville predators #support nashville predators

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nhacly · 2 years ago

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THE 15 BEST Things to Do in Dallas - 2022 (with Photos) - Tripadvisor

THE 15 BEST Things to Do in Dallas – 2022 (with Photos) – Tripadvisor

It’s been a long time since I visited The Cotton Bowl. I attended the Winter Classic (Dallas Stars vs Nashville Predators) on New Year’s Day. I’m pretty patient, the long lines at the food vendors and merchandise stands lived up to my expectations. (By the way, one vendor ran out of bbq meat at 9:30am! So basically the staff-on-duty–I don’t know if the were volunteers or paid staff–had to wait…

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comfortersetss · 3 years ago

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B62830000 570B6783000001 EN 2 Piece Hockey League Predators Comforter Twin Set, Sports Patterned Bedding, Team Logo Fan Merchandise Athletic Team Spirit, Blue Yellow White, Polyester Unisex

2 Piece Hockey League Nashville Predators Comforter Twin Set, Sports Patterned Bedding, Team Logo Fan Merchandise Athletic Team Spirit, Blue Yellow White, Polyester Unisex Includes: 1 comforter, and 1 sham Comforter dimensions: 64 inches wide x 86 inches long Beautiful blue comforter features a hockey pattern and design. **ITEM INCLUDES Exclusive DIAMOND HOME EBOOK** [amz_corss_sell…

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goldenknightsnews-blog · 7 years ago

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Golden Knights fan fever heats up with pep rally at practice

Two weeks into the NHL playoffs, the support of Vegas Golden Knights fans has reached an epic level, even for a city that believes that no show can be too big.

"My God, it's exaggerated," said Jay Kornegay, director of the Westgate Sportsbook in Las Vegas. "No matter where you go, you see the booty of Golden Knights in 85-year-old babies and ladies, you've captured this community like you've never seen before and I've been here for 31 years."

According to the NHL, the Golden Knights lead the league in interactions on social networks (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter), despite the fact that the expansion team has the smallest user base.

The merchandise sales of Las Vegas (through NHL.com, NHLShop.Ca, etc.) occupy the third place in the NHL. Marc-Andre Fleury goalkeeper's shirt is the number 4 shirt, just behind Connor McDavid, and in front of players like Henrik Lundqvist and Alex Ovechkin.

As for merchandise sales, Jennings said that the Golden Knights "are not only exceeding their weight category, but are living up to our larger markets."

The TV ratings for the first-round games of the Golden Knights on AT & T Sportsnet-Rocky Mountain have increased by more than 200%, even since the regular season.

"They continue their mercurial journey through the playoffs," Jennings said.

In addition to posting the fifth best record of 51-24-7, an NHL record for an expansion franchise, the Golden Knights have instantly become one of the brand and marketing franchises.

The Golden Knights' Twitter account is irreverent, fun, smart and authentically similar to Vegas. In terms of the number of commitments, the Golden Knights hold two of the first three and four of the six best Twitter posts during the 2017-18 NHL season.

The president of Carolina Hurricanes, Don Waddell, went through a process of expansion in Atlanta for the Thrashers, and marvel at what the Golden Knights have accomplished in such a short time. A year ago, this team did not have a list.

"I think people thought they would stumble in the playoffs, and obviously that's not the case," Waddell said.

The Golden Knights swept the Kings in four games. "And it's been amazing to see everyone get on the train in Las Vegas," said Waddell.

Former NHL player Jeremy Roenick, now an NBC analyst: "When I felt the huge amount of energy in the building for Game 1, I chuckled and remembered how many people said that Vegas could not support a sports team professional.

Jennings said the Golden Knights connected with the fans immediately.

"The way they describe themselves is the gang of mated misfits," Jennings said. "The teams said these players were going to be unprotected in the expansion draft, and they all came to the camp with a chip on their shoulders, saying they were going to prove something by having an extraordinary season."

Jennings said that "winning has been the fuel for planes" that has ignited the passion of the fans in Las Vegas, but the Golden Knights have done an exceptional job to maintain momentum.

The Vegas game plan is similar to the Nashville Predators (country music) in that Golden Knights have married the identity of their city with their hockey identity. Everything about the Golden Knights is about entertainment.

"You can not recreate history, you can not do what the Detroit Red Wings did, or the New York Rangers, or Boston Bruins, or Toronto, Montreal," said Jennings. "When teams try to do that, I think it's when they get disoriented, discover your market, immerse yourself with your fans and offer a quality product and be who you are."

#golden knights #stanley cup playoffs 2018

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the-record-columns · 6 years ago

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Jan. 23, 2019: Columns

Every cloud has a silver lining...

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

In this week’s issue, there are some photos of the Open-Mic held this past Friday, at The 1915 on Main Street in Wilkesboro.

It was refreshing to see a variety of musicians, from those known very well, like R.G. Absher, to fresh faced youths like Libby Harbour and Cali Johnson, playing for a group of people who loved it all.

Cali Johnson and music teacher Larry Skipper. Record photo Ken Welborn

It was cold and windy Friday night and the weather has gone downhill ever since, but one of Dale Isom's announcements about upcoming events reminded me about a weather story we can all enjoy. Dale told those at the Open-Mic that in September, Carolina in the Fall would be in Downtown Wilkesboro for the fifth year--and that made me think about the first one in Wilkesboro--which was held in 2015.

Anyone who has ever talked to me about the weather and its potential to affect whatever event or gathering had been planned would have probably hard me say: "Well now, if I were in charge of the weather, I surely wouldn't have to worry about peddling any advertising for a living--now would I?"

Well, the first Carolina in the Fall was a wet one to say the least, and the Isom's joined the ranks of the Rotary Club of North Wilkesboro in being able to break a drought. My mother, Cary, however, would always look for the silver lining in every circumstance (cloud), and that is simply not a bad thing to do.

Well, at each Carolina in the Fall, the Rotary Club has looked after the sale of artists' merchandise as a community project. I was working the Rotary tent on that first Saturday evening, and, when it came time for Rhonda Vincent and The Rage to begin, I grabbed an umbrella and walked over to hear at least part of her show. It was beginning to get dark, and to say it was raining was clearly an understatement. The faithful were well bundled in raincoats and tarps of many colors--they came for the music and, By George, they were staying.

After one of their songs, Rhonda Vincent took a few moments to thank those who were hanging in there in spite of the weather. She then recounted a story of her days as a youth playing with her father's group. As the story went, they played weekends in many places, but most Monday-Friday's in Branson, Missouri.

As I recall, she said they played five one-hour shows a day in Branson. One morning show it was pouring rain and there was not a person in the audience--not one--she swore. Vincent said that she and her young brother were far less than excited about playing to an empty venue, and said so, wondering aloud why they should even bother. Their father stopped them cold in their tracks and assured them that, while there was no one there, they were being paid to play five shows a day and that they were going to do the best show they could--every time--regardless of the circumstances.

The family then went on to do the show from start to finish, and to their father's satisfaction--including her and her brother.

Vincent went on to say it wasn't long after that their group was invited to play at The Grand Ole Opry in Nashville and that exposure got them lots of other opportunities, and was a tremendous boost to their careers. She called the name of the man from the Opry who was in charge of booking acts at the time, but I cannot recall it here. At any rate, her dad asked him how he heard about their band and came to ask them to play at the Opry. He told him he was recently on vacation with his family in Branson, Missouri. While there, he happened to hear a group play in the pouring rain to an audience of empty chairs. He told them he and his family were around the corner under a bit of shelter, and that he figured any group that would put on that good a show for no one, would certainly play well for an audience. The rest, as they like to say, is history.

My mother Cary would simply smile, and nod knowingly.

‘Peace-building is treason’

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

At a time when the leadership of the United States is engaged in a contentious struggle over the building of a security wall along our southern border to help keep us safe from terrorists and others, the United Nations has opened its doors wide for the president of the Palestinian Authority, Mahmoud Abbas a.k.a Abu Mazen, and the government of the United States of America has granted him a visa to enter the country. What makes this so shocking is the fact that Mahmoud Abbas is himself a terrorist who openly calls for the destruction of Israel and the United States, yet he was allowed to enter our country and was welcomed at the U.N. as a dignitary and leader of a nation. What? He should have been arrested and prosecuted!

Mahmoud Abbas promotes, and funds acts of terror against Israelis and Americans, pays lifetime financial benefits through his “Pay for Slay” program to those who murder Israelis and Americans and defends this program by saying those who commit such acts are “sacred stars in the sky.” Furthermore, the Palestinian people are not a nation. They are a movement which began with Yasser Arafat when he and his band of thugs were banished from Jordan for being the primary national security threat to that country. The world is overlooking the facts in favor of embracing the false narratives created by Arafat and his successor, Mahmoud Abbas. The PA justifies acts of terror against Israel by calling them “illegal occupiers” of the land. To support this claim, they have invented origins for themselves that predate the Jewish people’s presence in the Holy Land despite archaeological evidence and historic writings to the contrary.

The world seems to be buying what the Palestinians are selling and the U.N. is cheering them on. The Palestinian Authority (PA) is fundamentally involved in terror yet the international community is not holding them responsible or accountable. In fact, they are being rewarded. In addition to Abbas being welcomed at the United Nations last week, he was awarded the chairmanship of the “Group of 77 and China.” Most have not heard of this organization, but it is significant. The Group of 77 and China is a coalition of 134 developing nations created to promote the economic interests of its members and create a significant negotiating bloc within the United Nations. While Abbas is serving as its leader, the Palestinians will be able to cosponsor proposals and amendments, make statements and raise procedural motions. Naturally, Israel and the U.S. are opposed. The Palestinians will look for every opportunity to punish Israel for some manufactured grievance and will continue working at isolating Israel and the U.S. from Arab member states. With Abbas at the helm of the “Group of 77 and China,” there will be no peace with Israel. Abbas recently proclaimed that “peace-building is treason.” By giving Abbas control of such a significant U.N. organization, it seems the entire world is acting collectively as sworn enemies of Israel – the only Jewish country in the world established on land deeded to it by God Himself.

A Creative Force

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

The creative energy that flows through the Carolinas is abundant and inspiring.

Seldom are the days that I am not made aware of the good work of an author, playwright, producer, filmmaker, TV producer, editor, actor, actress, painter, potter, quiltmaker, woodcarver, glass blower, graphic designer, songwriter, singer, banjo player, dancer…well you get the idea.

I can say from humble experience that the work of a producer is never ending. There is always another story to tell. You must make a lot of decisions on what comes next and there’s always a list of deadlines to meet before it makes it to the screen. To add to the excitement, you need to balance several stories at one time, all of which are at various stages of development. It’s sort of like the power saw jugglers, if you don’t pay close attention an undesired result might develop.

And then there is the writing. Writing for TV and writing for a column or a book is considerably different. For the column we paint pictures with words and feelings, I will often add one or two relevant photos.

For TV we must bring our work to life so that moving pictures and words match in such a way that a good story is told and understood.

When we work on a story for broadcast, we look for topics with feelings and a nice upside. It’s not to say that all our stories are totally happy because they are not; however, if a story is about a troubling topic, we always look for some hope to share. Getting the visuals and the words to complement each other is always the challenge.

When we produced the Life In The Carolinas special “Remembering No More” we shared a compelling story about Alzheimer’s which is by no means a simple subject. We introduced Vera Holder, a charismatic Alzheimer’s patient.

We then introduced the CART organization that started by collecting coins at weekly Rotary meeting. Over the years the organization has granted millions of dollars for Alzheimer’s research. The grants are to help scientists who are trying new things and need seed grants to test their ideas. If they get traction, they can then secure much larger needed grants from other sources.

In the special we looked not only at the problem but also at the people who are doing something about it.

We found and shared hope. Vera’s story has heart and it means as much today as when it first aired.

While working on a new story for our Carolina’s Theatre Trail segments I recently enjoyed an evening of entertainment at the Reeves Theater in Elkin. The talented group Tellico from the Asheville area entertained an intimate audience with a blended folk sound. It was a good night.

I spent time with Erik Dahlager and Debbie Carson, co-owners of the Reeves. I consider them to be the grand stars of the show, because they are the ones who brought The Reeves Theater back to life.

It was their creative vision and hard work that made if possible, for this once vibrant venue to come to life again with a new and exciting look and feel; a place where entertainers enjoy performing and a place that the audience likes to support.

On the third Friday of the month I visited The 1915 in Wilkesboro for the monthly open mic night. The lineup did not disappoint. The venue is historic and with good entertainment it makes for a perfect night out. Dale and Michelle Isom along with their music loving family demonstrate their love of rhythm and community. Their creativity and attention to detail is evident and passion runs deep in their family.

We do have a creative force in the Carolinas. It makes our lives better and for that I am grateful.

I met a man on the street a few days ago. I said, “Hello sir, I hope you are doing well today.” To which he replied, “Good enough!”

Carl White is the Executive Producer and Host of the award-winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In The Carolinas. The weekly show is not in its 10th year of syndication and be seen in the Charlotte market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturday’s at noon and My40. The show also streams on Amazon Prime. For more information visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com. You can email Carl at [email protected].

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fanapparelsouvenirs · 8 years ago

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SWEET Nashville Predators Youth Lg 10-12 Blue NHL Merchandise Jersey, VERY NICE! BUY IT NOW – SWEET Nashville Predators Youth Lg 10-12 Blue NHL Merchandise Jersey, VERY NICE!

#SWEET Nashville Predators Youth Lg 10-12 Blue NHL Merchandise Jersey #VERY NICE!

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honeysfashion · 2 years ago

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Women’s Nashville Predators Rocco Grimaldi Gold Home Breakaway Player Jersey

Show your support for the Nashville Predators with this officially licensed gear. This collection of apparel and accessories is perfect for any hockey fan or devoted follower of the team. From snapback hats to stadium blankets, you can find a variety of merchandise that lets you show off your true colors. Represent your favorite NHL team in style and make sure everyone knows who you’re rooting for!

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mizbabygirl · 8 years ago

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Blackhawks' Jordin Tootoo relishes sober life after years of alcohol abuse [02\12\2017] (from the Chicago Tribune)

Jordin Tootoo sits at the dining room table cradling his daughter while she drinks from a bottle, laughing when the 8-month-old gives a contented "ahhh."

That scene is a stark contrast to when, as a teenager, Tootoo showed up to his future wife's Sweet 16 birthday party carrying a six-pack of beer. Or later when he would grab his best friend by the ankles to drag him out of bed so the two could go on drinking binges during a time when Tootoo's out-of-control lifestyle nearly derailed his NHL career.

The Jordin Tootoo of today, a winger for the Blackhawks and devoted family man who says he hasn't touched a drop of alcohol in more than six years, has moved on from what he refers to as his "past life."

It was a life that, beginning in his teen years, meant drinking to excess during the harsh days and nights spent not far from the Arctic Circle in a town where the only way in or out was by plane or snowmobile. It was a way of life that escalated after the suicide of his brother and reached its apex after Tootoo became the first player of Inuk descent to reach the NHL, where fame and fortune only fueled the opportunities to drink.

Tootoo does have a new life, one spent substance-free and trying to help the Hawks win the Stanley Cup and coming home to a loving wife, Jen, and daughter, Siena, where he is now as comfortable as he ever was on the ice.

"You look at life from a different perspective when you're comfortable and content in your own skin," Tootoo says. "You understand the meaning of life."

Which is?

"Right here," he says, looking at his daughter. "It's a balance and understanding that when you create something it's not all about you anymore. I changed my ways to change the cycle for my kids, for the next generation of my family. For me, this is an opportunity to be better."

Tootoo needed to be better.

Like most of his family and friends, Tootoo fell into the culture that permeates the Rankin Inlet of the Nunavut Territory in northern Canada, which included little talking ("in the arctic it's too cold to talk, so no one communicates," he says) and the abuse of alcohol.

"Growing up, it was just a part of life," Tootoo says. "For a lot of people in the north and in isolated communities it's a way of life to use and abuse drugs and alcohol. Basically what I knew growing up was to … wash away (everything) and not talk about it."

Together with his brother, Terence, and their best friend, Troy Aksalnik ("when you saw one of us the other two were usually right beside," Aksalnik says) they did what teenagers did in Rankin Inlet: Play hockey and drink alcohol.

The Tootoo brothers (especially Jordin) were standouts on the ice and were playing in the junior ranks when police pulled Terence over in 2002 while he driving home alone after dinner and drinks with his younger sibling. Terence was charged with impaired driving. A short time later, Terence, 22, committed suicide.

Thinking of his brother right to the end, he left a note for Jordin that read: "Do well, Jor. Go all the way. Take care of the family. You are the man. Ter."

"Reading it over and over I understood why it was plain and simple and to the point," Tootoo says. "I understood exactly what he meant by 'Go all the way,' meaning go to the NHL and take care of the family financially because he was the one who always tried to keep things afloat for our family. And with 'You are the man,' he never really got a lot of credit for being a leader as far as paving the way for a lot of the young kids in the north because everyone kind of looked at me like the one who was going to make it."

Consumed with grief, Tootoo began drinking even more heavily and continued to do so after the Predators drafted him and he made the team at 20. In Nashville, Tootoo made a name for himself on the ice with a hard-nosed style of play and off it with his hard-drinking ways.

Trips home took things up yet another notch.

"They don't have a liquor story there, so it's a dry community in a sense and you have to order all your liquor, which Jordin would do because he had the money," says Jen, who met Jordin when he was signing autographs at a junior tournament where she was working selling merchandise. "His family would look forward to him making that big order and once it got there Jordin would take the whole town out. 'Everyone come over, it's a free-for-all.'"

Aksalnik says when Tootoo drank "it was like there was no holding him back. He would come to our house and I'd be sleeping in the middle of the night and he'd grab me by the feet and say, 'Let's go.' My wife would be right there and she pretty much couldn't say anything. He'd pull me out of bed and we were off."

The partying continued until Predators general manager David Poile and then-coach Barry Trotz intervened.

"It was every other weekend I was getting called into the office, 'Toots,' what the hell?'" Tootoo says. "'You were out this late, people are saying things.'"

Poile and Trotz directed Tootoo into the NHL's substance abuse and behavioral health program, which he entered Dec. 27, 2010.

"It was a long time coming for me," Tootoo says. "Barry Trotz talked about his family, too, dealing with alcoholism, so he really knew what I was going through. To have someone that actually cared about you as a human being says a lot. I couldn't thank them enough for rejuvenating my life."

Clean and sober, Tootoo continued with his NHL career and detailed his struggle in a book called "All The Way: My Life on Ice," which was released in October of '14 while he was with the Devils. He says it was cathartic to tell his story.

"I wrote it for me personally," Tootoo says. "I felt like it was the right time in my life to turn the page and get it all off my shoulders. I think it helped my family understand how things are and why things were the way they were. I told them that I'm grateful for every experience that I've had. It has made me who I am today."

Today, Tootoo is a husband and father first and a hockey player second. Living in former Hawks forward Andrew Shaw's house not far from the United Center, Tootoo, 34, has settled in domestically.

"I never ever at the time envisioned being settled down," he says. "When you're living in that lifestyle or stuck in that dark place, you don't ever see this side of life. (Not) until maybe a year into my sobriety … did (I begin) seeing life from a different perspective."

Jen Tootoo, who married Jordin in 2014, described her husband's transformation from party animal to tea-drinking family man as "mind-blowing."

"I never even thought about marrying him — I just didn't see him as that guy," she says. "And he's just a totally different person. Not that I didn't love the guy he was before, but you just didn't even know him really. You didn't get on that level of a deeper kind of connection. When you have a past and an upbringing that has made you who you are, well, there are always things to work on and changing habits and breaking the past and the cycle. He has done a really good job of communicating and learning those skills.”

"I'm just really proud of him," she continues, her voice breaking with emotion. "I don't even think sometimes that he understands what a great person he is and how mature he has become. He puts so many people first. He's honorable. Everyone respects him. He's a man of his word and he knows who he is as a person."

That respect extends into the Hawks dressing room, where Tootoo is a mentor to some of the team's young players after signing a one-year, free-agent contract last summer. He also earns it on the ice protecting teammates.

"I know my role," Tootoo says. "Over the years the game has evolved. I know I can play the game, but my foundation is being a physical presence out there. Before when I played it was out of anger and frustration and I didn't really give a (damn) about my health, but for me now it's more of being a character guy and being a good teammate for the young guys. Mentally, it's a grind. It's not easy being a pro athlete. I always tell the guys, 'Page 172 out of my book is mind over matter.'"

Tootoo's transformation also has had an impact back home in northern Canada. His sobriety is an inspiration for others, including Aksalnik, who followed Tootoo's lead and went to rehab and is living a sober life in Rankin Inlet.

"I took the same approach he did," Aksalnik says. "I went to rehab for 30 days and straightened my life out. I did it because I knew he did it."

Aksalnik says Tootoo has inspired "a lot of people" in Rankin Inlet. "He's a role model by playing in the NHL and now that he's not drinking, I think a lot of people look up to him."

Being a role model suits Tootoo much better than wasting away his life in a bottle.

"It's a daily process of being a better person, a better pro," Tootoo says. "Maybe before I sobered up I put so much stress on myself as to try to control what I can't control. I feel more at peace on a daily basis. I can go to bed at night without any stress. It's not like before when I would be laying in bed for hours, (wondering) 'What is this person thinking or what did I do two nights ago?'"

Tootoo then is interrupted by a squealing Siena.

"What? What?" he says to her with a smile.

"I never knew that there was this side of life," Tootoo says again. "It has been a wonderful gift that was offered to me six years ago and I have a beautiful wife and a beautiful daughter and we're all healthy."

#chicago blackhawks #jordin tootoo

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