The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

The time leading up to the gold medal game had been extraordinarily stressful. The pressure Sidney had been feeling beforehand was overwhelming enough, but as the Winter Olympics were coming to a close, the pressure had seemed to multiply by a million. But all the stress was worth it as soon as the puck left Sidney's stick and hit the back of the net. The buzzer sounded, and the rest was a blur. Canada had just won the gold! He had gotten the game winning goal! It was his childhood dream come true.

Following the games, everything was a blur, a flurry of press and smiles and alcohol and congratulations. He couldn't have kept the smile off his face if he'd tried. Of course, the next day, on the trip back to Pittsburgh, reality of the whole Isabelle/Sorcha situation set in.

Isabelle wanted nothing to do with him, though it was to be expected. Honestly, Sidney wasn't sure she'd ever speak to him again, and though it hurt to think about since they had, at one time, been very good friends, he understood. He had hurt her to such a great extent that, while her religious convictions would lead her to one day forgive, Isabelle would probably never forget what Sidney had done to her. It kept Sidney up at night just thinking about it.

And, of course, what made matters worse was Sorcha was constantly on his mind. He craved her so much it made his head hurt. He had an overwhelming urge to call her, but the look on Sorcha's face when he had said "certainly not now... if ever" stopped him. It was a heart wrenching look and made Sidney hurt from the inside out.

How did his life become such a mess? Less than a year ago, he was having the time in his life. Sidney had won the Stanley Cup, his absolute dream, and things with Isabelle were beyond fantastic. He had been happy with her, he knew he had been, so why couldn't she have been enough? Why did he have to stray? Why did he have to hook up with her best friend?

Except, in Sidney's mind, Sorcha was so much more than a hook up. He couldn't exactly label whatever the hell they were, but it stopped being a random, drunken hook up a long time ago. And that was what went wrong. Sidney began his relationship with Isabelle when deep down, he knew the vulgar, freckled-face brunette had eclipsed him. It had been like that from the very beginning.

Isabelle had only ever been a substitute. Sorcha had always been the one he wanted. And he was only now just realizing it.

* * *

It felt good to be holed back up in the skate room, nestled amongst dull and abused ice skates. It was ridiculous hoe much I had missed it here, and I was more than okay with work and school starting back up again. It was good to be busy. The busier the better.

A content sigh escaped my lips as I shelved a pair of skates, only to grab another. Even with Lacey and Sadie around, skate maintenance had been astonishingly neglected. Don't get me wrong, I loved working at Kettler, but I couldn't help but wish my boss would hire some more competent workers, especially one with an IQ higher than that of a box of rocks.

It was a slow day and I was working alone. Capitals practice had ended more than an hour prior, so most of the fans had left and gone home, save a few fan girls here and there, who lingered in desperate hope to catch and up-close-and-personal glimpse of some of the players, especially Ovechkin, as they headed to their cars. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at them. The boys were, of course, always nothing but cordial to the fans, even the hyperactive teenage girls, and were always more than willing to stop for an autograph or a picture, but most of the girls who stuck around this late were hoping more than a memento.

I was lost in my thoughts, expertly going through the mass of neglected ice skates, when my cell phone vibrated from on top of the work bench. I set down my things and slipped off my stool to retrieve it. I checked the screen. I had a new text message; I grinned when I noticed the sender.

What time you done?

The strength of my smile increased. His broken English was beyond endearing. I checked the time before responding.

In about a half-hour; why?

I set my phone back down, but this time on the empty stool beside me. I had just finished lacing a pair of skates when it vibrated again.

Metro or drive?

I replied before I picked up a new pair of skates: Metro.

His response came soon after: Meet by car after shift. We do something.

Looking forward to it :)

I smiled softly to myself before I put my phone away and got back to work.

After I left Vancouver, I wondered if I'd ever spend time with Alex again. I mean, things were a lot different when he was the hot-shot of the city, the savior of DC sports, and I was the lowly university student who sharpened ice skates and hung out at art galleries. I didn't see how things would work, and honestly, I missed spending time with him the moment I landed in Washington.

But his text message had proven me wrong. He still wanted to spend time with me, and I couldn't have been more excited about it.

I threw my messy hair into a ponytail as I clocked out and l headed out of Kettler through the large glass doors. It was easy to spot Alex's car - it was the flashiest one in the lot. I trudged over to it, pulling my wool coat closer to my body as I walked. I rolled my eyes when I realized there was a pair of bleach-blonde, fake-tanned, scantily-clad teenage girls hanging out by the car. If that didn't cry desperate, I wasn't sure what did. They shot me look of disgust when I stopped in front of them.

"What are you doing here?" one asked snarkily.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I replied sarcastically as I checked the time on my cell phone.

"It looks like you're waiting for Ovechkin," the other began scathingly, "but honey, you're far too ugly to catch his interest."

"Perhaps if you got a nose job and went to the tanning salon..."

"And, of course, lost weight, cuz darling, not even your frumpy pea coat can hide those rolls."

My eyes narrowed, "At least I'm not fucking jailbait."

"Better to be underage than unfuckable," one announced with a smirk. I opened my mouth to tell them off, perhaps even threaten them off the property, but a familiar voice spoke up before I could.

"Hello ladies." His accent as thick as he gave us a cheeky grin. The two teenies dissolved into giggles and I rolled my eyes, stepping back and crossing my arms, watching them incredulously.

"Is anything I help you with?" The pair swooned at his accent. I tried to give them the benefit of being teenage girls, but I certainly did not remember being so stupid when I was their age, and it wasn't even that long ago.

"Can we have your autograph?" one asked innocently, batting her eyelashes at him.

"And maybe a picture?" the second one added.

Alex offered them another smile and complied with their requests happily. It was astonishing how well he dealt with annoying fans. He was never anything more than patient and congenial to every single one of them, no matter how immature, giggly, or rude they were.

Once he had signed their jerseys and posed for several pictures with them, he turned to look at me, "Ready, Sorcha?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pair of girls' jaws drop as I nodded. I shot them a smug look as Alex unlocked his car and the two of us climbed inside. The two girls were still wide-eyed as we tore out of the parking lot. I quickly fastened my seatbelt, remembering all of the interviews I had seen and read about how fast and reckless of a driver Alex was. He laughed at my actions and reached over to squeeze my hand as we drove down the spiral that led out of the parking garage.

"They wrong, you know."

I shot him a curious look, "What?"

"Those girls, they wrong. You completely fuckable,"

And I did something completely out of character - I blushed.

* * *

At the Olympics, Fleury had noticed the lack of Isabelle's presence when Canada wasn't playing, but he thought it best not to bring up. At least until they got back to Pittsburgh, because sure enough, after their first practice, Fleury cornered Sidney, looking at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity in his dark brown eyes as he looked at his teammate, captain, and friend.

"What happened with Isabelle?" Fleury wondered. They were the last two in the dressing room, everyone else eager to leave after the exhausting practice.

"Nothing," Sidney shrugged nonchalantly as he hung up his pads.

"I'm not falling for that Sidney," Fleury announced, "I know you well enough to know when you're lying. Does this have something to do with Isabelle's friend being around? Did something happen between you and her?"

"You could say that..." the twenty-two-year-old trailed off.

"And what happened exactly?"

"We kind of, uhm, you know, hooked up...again... and we were kind of, er, caught making out in the elevator by, uhm, uhhh, Isabelle..."

Fleury's eyes went wide, "You did what?! I thought you decided you were done with her after the third time?!"

"I-I know, but there's just something about her, Flower. I haven't been able to get her off my mind for almost a year..." Sidney stated.

"Then why did you date Isabelle in the first place?" Fleury questioned honestly.

"Because I thought it'd help me forget about her! You suggested it!"

"No," Fleury began forcefully, "do not blame this on me. I did not expect you to continue whatever-the-hell you and her were or are doing while you were dating Belle. She's a sweet girl, Sid; she doesn't deserve being strung along."

"Well she's not anymore, Flower, because she dumped me and now wants anything to do with me," he snapped.

"Are you surprised?"

Sidney sighed and sat down, resting his head in his hands, "Well, no, but I miss her a lot more than I expected. I mean, we were such good friends before all of this shit happened." Fleury sat down next to him.

"She'll get over it eventually, Sidney, you just have to give her time and space. She might never trust you again, though. And things will probably never go back to how they were before all of this happened..."

Nodding, Sidney understood. He knew he had screwed things up far too much to ever repair them properly, and the knowledge of that made his chest ache.

"So, where does this leave you and the Caps fan?"

"Nowhere," Sidney murmured before looking at his friend, "she hates me, Marc. Absolutely, 100% hates me."

"What did you do?" he asked. It wasn't an accusation, more just a curious question.

"After it all happened, I kind of, you know, rejected her, told her I couldn't do 'this' then, if ever. You should've seen the look on her face, Flower, it was awful. And after all of the shit I've said and done to her in the past year, I can understand why she would want nothing to do with me now. I was so mean. I think it was because I was scared of how I was feeling about her, but I don't think I can ignore it anymore.

"Jesus, Flower, I think I might love her."