The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

The first week of games flew by and had been fairly successful for Team Canada. Sidney and his teammates won their first two preliminary round games, though the third game they lost 3-5 to USA, and the twenty-two-year-old would by lying if he said the loss didn't sting.

When he wasn't playing or practicing or hanging out with his teammates, he was with Isabelle. Not that he didn't like spending time with his young girlfriend, but Sidney would've hoped to have some sort of break from her. The forward knew it was a horrible wish to have. Isabelle loved him, even though she had never voiced it; Sidney could see it in her eyes. And he believed he felt the same. Perhaps.

In the first week, he didn't have another run-in with Sorcha, despite Isabelle's desperate measures for the three of them to spend time together. Sidney wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or relieved over this matter. Though, as long as he didn't see her stumbling out of the Russian dorm, unkempt and smelling strongly of sex and alcohol, again, he would be fine. Perhaps.

* * *

A week into the Winter Olympics, I found myself actually having a really good time. Vancouver was a truly beautiful city, despite the hordes of obnoxious people who seemed to be everywhere, who I did eventually get used to.

Surprisingly, I began to willingly spend time with Isabelle and it was a lot of fun. It was like back in high school where we seemed to spend every waking moment with one another, before Uncle Damian left for Chicago and I moved in with my brothers, adopting a lifestyle Isabelle firmly disagreed with. The only time she really got on my nerves was when she begged and pleaded for me to spend some time with her and Sidney, which I shrugged up, giving her a vague description of something else I had to do.

And usually, that something else had to do with Team Russia. For some unknown reason, I began to spend a ridiculous about of time with those boys. Ovechkin had stolen my number out of my cell phone and began calling incessantly, swearing not to stop until I hung out with him, which usually included a handful of his teammates as well. We did do much, really. With such a hectic schedule of games and practices and interviews, they were usually too exhausted to do much of anything besides going out to eat, catching some of the other events, and simply hanging around. It was fun, though, to be honest.

I'd also successfully avoided Sidney Crosby for the remainder of the first week. Hopefully, my luck would continue into the second week as well.

* * *

Practice after the loss to USA was excruciating. Not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. Sidney was so disappointed with how he had played on Sunday, so when the long, drawn-out practice finally ended, he wanted nothing more than to see Isabelle, because he knew the petite blonde would kiss him, comfort him, reassure him of his skill and talent and heart. There wasn't a more comforting person than Isabelle Jackson, except, perhaps, his mother.

So, after his shower, Sidney threw on some comfortable clothes, left the Olympic Village, and headed towards the hotel he knew Isabelle and Sorcha were staying at. He had only been there once in the past week, the couple spent most of their time out in the city, but he knew where he was going.

It took awhile to get there, partially because of the distance and mostly because of the crowds. He headed up to the thirty-fourth floor in the elevator and went straight for the hotel room. Knocking softly, Sidney waited outside the door anxiously. The weight of everyone's expectations was growing unbearable and he desperately needed Isabelle to tell him that everything was okay, that he was trying his best, that no matter how well or how poorly he did, she'd still love him, even if not in so many words.

Sidney heard some grumbling and shuffling behind the door. He should have immediately known it wasn't Isabelle. But he was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice or to care. Soon, the door was yanked open and before him stood Sorcha with an impatient scowl spread across her face.

"Hey Sorcha, is -" he barely began before Sorcha interrupted.

"Isabelle's not here," she snapped. "She's watching ice dancing."

Sidney's heart wrenched. Isabelle wasn't here. He desperately ached for her soft hands, full lips, and kind words. The young star was discouraged and had the weight of an entire country on his shoulders, and all he wanted was his girlfriend to tell him things would be okay, yet she was watching ice dancing.

He focused his attention on Sorcha, trying to keep his mind off all the pressure he was feeling. She was dressed in a charcoal v-neck, a ratty pair of jeans, and a pair of well-worn Converse. Her unruly, cinnamon brown waves were pulled back away from her face with the fringe of her bangs falling into her dark chocolate eyes. Up this close, he could count the freckles that swept down from the bridge of her nose and across her pale cheeks. Only an idiot would think Sorcha Brogan wasn't breathtaking.

No, she wasn't tall with agonizingly long legs. No, she didn't have tan, flawless skin. No, she wasn't as thin as a rail. No, she didn't have crystal blue eyes or pin-straight blonde hair. No, she didn't look like society's definition of absolutely gorgeous and beautiful and breathtaking. No, she didn't look a bit like Isabelle.

But in Sidney's opinion, he was glad she didn't. Sorcha was real and her beauty was effortless. She had curves and messy hair and didn't bother to hide her skin's imperfections and looked amazing in just jeans and a t-shirt. And Sidney's heart just swelled with admiration and affection as he stood in the hallway looking at her as she stood in the doorway.

Sorcha watched Sidney's internal battle briefly, before rolling her eyes and going to slam the door in her face, but he stopped her. He forced the door back open and followed her inside, shutting the door hurriedly behind him. She opened her mouth to protest, to argue, to make a fuss, but he didn't let her. Sidney softly pressed his lips against hers and felt the spark run down his spine.

He went to pull backwards, afraid of being too close to Sorcha because she surely would want to hit him, but she fisted her hands in his shirt and yanked him back toward her, reconnecting their lips feverishly. He grasped desperately at her waist and she directed them into her room, closing the door frantically behind them.

Sorcha nimbly grabbed the hem of Sidney's cotton, breaking their kiss to pull it over his head. Their lips met again in a matter of nanoseconds. The nineteen-year-old was surprised to find Sidney's calloused hands leaving her waist to tug at her v-neck. No fumbling, no hesitation - just quickly and straightforward. Once her bra had been unhooked as well, they stumbled away from the door and toward her bed, somehow managing to shuck the rest of their clothing in the process and without breaking their heated kiss.

They fell onto the bed, Sorcha beneath Sidney. Their kiss increased in intensity by a million. She threaded her fingers into his short hair while his hands explored and appreciated her curves as his lips began to explore, kissing their way down her jaw, down her body, before moving back up to find the sensitive spot behind her ear. She couldn't stop the moan of pleasure that escaped her lips. Neither of them could take it anymore. Sidney pushed inside her and all restrain was lost.