***Stevie's POV***

Have you ever had the sensation that you were being watched?

You would think that after playing in front of large crowds for the past eighteen years of my life, I wouldn't notice being observed anymore. But this is different. This is the hair-standing-up-on-the-back-of-your-neck, something-is-very-odd kind of being watched.

Maybe it's just nerves. I'm probably just anxious about this being my first game back since the surgery. It's all about my knee. There we go, that's a nice dismissive answer.

Except that the feeling won't. go. away. It's driving me up the damn wall. I keep turning my head to see if I can catch the person watching me, but each time I only see people going about their ordinary locker-room business.

Ok, maybe I'm going senile. That's a perfectly logical explanation for this. I'm senile. At age thirty-seven. Right.

A light touch on my shoulder practically causes me to jump out of my skin. I spin around to see Brendan Shanahan standing behind me, grinning. "What do you want?" I mutter.

Shanny leans against the lockers. "You're gonna get a crick in your neck if you keep whipping your head around like that. You're beginning to look paranoid. What's up?"

"It's nothing." He raises an eyebrow and I relent. "I keep feeling like someone is watching me."

Another raised eyebrow. "So what, you have your own personal stalker now? Damn, I'm jealous."

I roll my eyes. "It's not funny."

"Everything is funny if you look at it the right way," Brendan says, shrugging.

It's almost time for the pre-game warm-up, and gradually, the conversation dies down as we get ready to take the ice. The game goes well, except for the last ten minutes, and we win. My knee feels just about as good as ever. Just one thing mars the night; I still can't get rid of that feeling of being watched. It's starting to get a bit disturbing.

I try to shake the feeling as I shower and dress, but I can't. Shanny grabbing me out of nowhere, again, doesn't do much for my state of mind. "Now what?"

Shanny smiles evilly. "I figured out what’s going on with you getting that strange feeling."

I sigh. "Yeah. I'm off my rocker. I didn't need your help to figure that out."

Brendan snickers. "I figured out who's watching you."

I pause. "For real?"

He nods. "You want to know who it is?"

"No, I want to live in confusion for the rest of my life. Who's watching me?" Sometimes, I wonder about him...

"Boyd."

"Boyd?"

"Boyd."

"BOYD?"

"I didn't do it!"

I cover my eyes with my hand, trying not to look at the young forward. "Sorry Boyd. False alarm." I turn back to Shanny and hiss, "Him?"

"Yes. For the last time. He was watching you the whole game, both intermissions...I think he's your stalker."

I rub my forehead. "But why?"

Brendan shrugs. "Hell if I know." He walks away to go talk to Feds, leaving me along with my thoughts.

Boyd. Why was Boyd watching me? It makes no sense, none at all. I know that he looked up to me when he was growing up, and damn if that doesn't make me feel old, but we've played together for a year and a half now. I don't get it, I really don't.

I sigh, tossing my stuff into my bag. This is not what I need right now. I've got my knee, Minnesota, and the Olympics to worry about. I can figure out what's going on with Boyd after that.

I'm in a thunderstorm
Staying out from under trees never holding
Golf clubs, but still seem to be getting struck by lightning
Must be something in my veins
My weathered vanes
-Barenaked Ladies, "Same Thing"

Part 1 | Part 3