Training the Team (Dougie Hamilton)

Canadian Chaos

Sunday, December 6

<Dougie's POV>

Kylie isn't here today.

She's with her friends from BU. Today seems very boring and everyone can feel it.

Claude lets us off the ice early because no one is feeling practice, not even him.

Whitey is particularly irritable today, which doesn't help anyone or anything. He yells harshly at Pasta, I mean, more than he usually does, and Pasta nearly breaks down into tears.

I walk past Pasta and Bergy as Bergy's consoling him.

"Pasta, are you okay?" Bergy asks.

"I don't know," Pasta chokes.

"Well, why are you upset?"

"I don't know- today is not a good day, and Kylie is not here, and it's really not a good day!"

I keep walking, biting my lip to keep myself from speaking. God, I miss Kylie. She's been gone for not even a whole day and we're all falling apart. I nearly send her a text and tell her we're falling apart, but she's hanging with her college friends, and I don't want to interfere. I'll see her tomorrow.

I muddle through the day, and my ride home seems extra quiet. I stop by my mailbox and pick up my mail, noting I have a package. I don't know where it's from because my building wraps the packages in paper and string to make it look nice. I bring my mail up and flop on my couch, going through the letters.

"Well, I guess I should open this now," I sigh, pulling the package toward me.

I unwrap the paper and string, and it's a box that's taped and the only thing it has on it is my name and apartment number.

Frowning, I open the tape and then the box.

Inside is a small envelope with my name on it and below that, a simple black journal. I open the envelope. The writing is in elegant cursive.

Dear Dougie,

I know we aren't close, and maybe this is unorthodox, but everything about this is unorthodox.

This journal, which I wrote specifically for you, is directly from me. It's my advice and insight and opinions and general thoughts. I know we aren't close, Dougie, but we should be. However, life (and death) got in the way, and we cannot be. But, for your sake and my sister's, I wrote this for you. I wish nothing but the best on you two.

I have one last request, if I may: please do not tell Kylie about this. Some of what is in this journal is to stay between us.

Sincerely,

Bella Matthews

Wednesday, December 9- Montreal

<Kylie's POV>

I get off the plane with the guys, shivering as a cold gust of air whips around us. The sky is dark and hanging low above us, so we walk quickly to our bus. I nearly slip a few times, and I'm wondering if my heels were such a great idea.

The bus ride over to the Bell Centre is quiet, and everyone is somber as we file off the bus and head for the arena. I shiver as I wait for my group of boys to get off the bus, and then we start walking in. I slip a little, my arms windmilling to kept my upright, and I get a few glances.

"Kylie, you okay?" Pasta asks, grinning.

"I'm fine. I just slipped a little."

We keep walking in, and I have to watch my step, otherwise I'll end up on the ground and hurting.