Heart of Man

~Anna Trovato~

I rubbed my arm through the red Canadian fabric that rested against my body, as Canada began the third period against Norway. “Patrice Bergeron is your teammate, right?”

The bulky defenseman who accompanied me to the game grunted, as Sidney Crosby dropped the puck back towards his own defense line. “Remind me again why you got a ‘Toews’ jersey? Don’t tell me you are sweet on him.”

“Not really. I met him on the flight here, so why not?” I playfully shoved him, as #87 slid in another goal against the Norwegian net minder. “I want to play against Canada.”

“Fat chance of that happening.” Chara teased, shoving me back, as the timer buzzed, signaling the end of the period, and the game. Canada had won, 8 to 2. “Come on, I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

~

“He plays for the Dallas Stars.” Chara and I walked past the security down on the Event Level of the center, headed for the Latvia & Russia locker rooms. “He’s pretty nice, so I think you guys will get along well. Just have to catch him before he hits the ice.”

“He plays with Latvia?” I crossed my arms, the small group of Russians heading our way going unnoticed, until one of them slammed their shoulder into me. Groaning lowly, I rubbed my shoulder where they had so nicely placed their body. Allowing Chara to walk infront of me, I turned to see who the asinine fool was, to be met with the head of dark blonde hair that belonged to Alexander Semin. “Mother fucker.”

~

“Where’d you do, Anna? I was looking for you,” Zdeno whined, as we leaned against the locker room wall. “He’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“I thought I saw something. It’s no problem though.” I folded my arms together, letting the back of my head rest against the wall.

“I heard that Trovato’s some rookie Finland snuck in, to make themselves better!”

“Oh, really? I didn’t even know Italy had a good hockey program.”

“That’s just it. They don’t have one. Man, are they going to embarrass themselves, or what?”

I stifled my laughter, looking over to my friend, who was having a similar problem.

“Whatever you are going, sweetheart, keep on doing it. By the time we get done here, you’ll have them all kinds of confused.”

~

I felt my throat become raw, as the center began a ear-splitting chorus of screams, as Malkin scored his goal for the period. I had my arms wrapped around Chara’s neck, probably suffocating him.

“COME ON, GENO! YOU’VE GOT THIS!” Oh yeah, I was going to feel this in the morning. Taking my seat, I resumed my mellow temperament, when they resumed play, earning another sign from Zdeno.

“What are you thinking about?” I looked to him, shrugging, before returning my eyes to the winger who was growing on my nerves.

“Nothing.” He received the puck, dropping it back a little, only to regain control moments later, when Latvia’s defense slipped. He passed it over to Ovechkin, who knocked it into the goal.

~Zdeno Chara~

I grimaced, preparing for the strangulation that was no doubt coming. Only it never did.

I opened my eyes, relaxing back into my seat, to see the female next to me in the same position, gaze positioned on the winger that just had an assist. I nudged her with my elbow. She cocked her head, showing she was listening, cueing me to continue. “You know him?”

She was still for a good few minutes. “Tell me about him.”

“You could have just said no,” I teased, rubbing my hand through my hair. “Alexander Semin plays for the Washington Capitals. Left winger, obviously, straight from Russia. He’s a really talented player. Strong on th-..”

“Krasnoyarsk is where he is from, am I correct?” The fact that she interrupted me didn’t bother me.

“How did you know that?” Sometimes I forgot that the girl I became friends with went to a prodigal Italian private school, was a governor’s daughter, and had her whole future in front of her.

“He looks like the people from that area. I had the opportunity to visit there when I was with Semyon and Evgeni,” She continued, as I watched the player we were speaking of. “He is built a bit more leaner, lighter hair, though not much. He has some height on him, though he is fast on the ice.”

I smiled. “Have you ever met him?”

“Fuck no. I hate that son of a bitch.”

Well, not the reaction I was hoping for.

~

We ended up finding an Olive Garden about thirty minutes north of the Vancouver area, and within seconds, we were seating at the back, behind a plant that Anna seemed quite amused with.

“I want to sit next to the plant!” As soon as that came out of her, the host changed directions, and here we are. Anna and her plant, leaving me to sit next to a dead flower.

“God, you are so immature!” I laughed, as she stuck her tongue out. Our host came back, simply pulling out his notepad, ready to write down our order. “I’ll have a glass of the house wine, the chicken parmesan, a plate of spaghetti, and we will take an order of breadsticks. A Caesar salad, no dressing, please.”

I handed him my unopened menu, and rested my head on my hands, trying to fight the grin off of my face.

“Parli italiano?” (Do you speak Italian?) She had a straight face, her eyes twinkling. The host merely nodded, readying his pen. “Io prenderò una bottiglia di vino bianco e rosso misto, sentitevi liberi di sperimentare con gli anni. Io prenderò la zuppa casa, un piatto di spaghetti, fettuccine Alfredo, e che qualcuno si prega di girare il ventilatore sopra di noi.” (I will take a bottle of white and red wine mixed, feel free to experiment with the years. I will take the house soup, a plate of spaghetti, Alfredo Fettuccine, and for someone to please turn the fan off above us.)

I nearly died, as the man wrote the request on the paper, and then scratched it feverishly, his blonde hair matting to the sweat that covered his forehead.

~Anna Trovato~

I smiled, trying to relax as the man scampered off, as Chara regained my attention.

“What did they do to you in Finland? You’ve never been this mischievous. Anyways, what five teams did you limit yourself to?” He closed his dark eyes, as his shoulders slumped in the dark blue shirt that he wore.

“Dallas, Buffalo, Philadelphia, Tampa Bay, and Colorado.” I listed off, leaning back into my seat.

“Decent choices. You have taste, and you’ve never played in America before. I’m impressed. I would cross Philadelphia off of your list, however. They only want you for publicity, I assure you. The team is full of assholes anyways,” The Bruin explained, before accepting his glass of wine from the host.

I took mine, sipping, and nodding to the man, before setting it on the table. “Alright, fair enough.”

“The other four, it depends on your style of play, honestly. The Avalanche, out on Colorado, is definitely unique. Duchene and Stastny are quite the players, but they play with a less-aggressive way of play.”

I shook my head again, thinking about myself and Val, before resuming my original train of thought. “Dallas?”

“Quite the characters. Their season is always fluctuating, so maybe in a year or two when they stop playing with their roster, should you consider them, but for now, I would personally say no.”

“Tampa Bay?”

“Always the aggressors. They rival the Capitals, so you’ll be seeing your friend a lot. Minus that, you’d be a good fit for them. They are made up primarily of Canadians and Americans, so you have some good, raw talent there.”

“Buffalo.”

“I think, once you get more NHL playing time, that would be an excellent move for you. However, now is not the time.”

~

“First goal of the game, scored by Trovato, with 3:24 left on the clock. Assisted by Selanne and Koivu.” The overhead voice boomed, making my head pound slightly, as Val jumped on me, knocking me into the glass softly.

By the time we reached the last five minutes of the third period, I don’t think we could have had a bigger ego.

“Val!” I shouted, tapping my stick on the ice. He looked up to me, shoving the puck my direction, before shaking off one of the Belarus defensemen to move up.

I brought it forward, before passing it back, where Val ledged the puck in the top corner, signaling the goal.

“Finland scores, by Filppula with :23 left on the clock. Assisted by line mate Trovato.” I rubbed my head, and before we knew it, the buzzer rang throughout the area, signaling the win over Belarus.

To: Sidney
Trovato scored, and had an assist. Definitely plays like a European player. Though you have to tell me why they put him back on defense during the second period.

I skated around on the ice for a bit, giving the media a chance to escape the locker room. Don’t get me wrong, I had no intentions of hiding who I was. I just didn’t want to have to deal with the whole ‘Girl-In-Pro-Hockey’ schpeal to hit the fan. They can have the Harper girl. My team didn’t need that kind of stress.

~Alexander Semin~

Never in my mind, did I have plans to come to the Belarus vs. Finland game. Varly and Geno said it would be good to know our opponents.

Had I known that my teammates and friends would embarrass the shit out of me when Trovato scored, I would have been a thousand miles away.

“DID YOU SEE THAT? THANK YOU TROVATO!” Even Nick joined in on us, both him, Varly, Ovie, and Geno wearing Trovato jerseys. I had no idea that Ovechkin even know Trovato, but he said he would support him, as Semyon practically threatened him when he went to get another player’s jersey.

“Sit down and control yourselves.” I groaned, as they each gave me weird looks.

“Shut the fuck up.” Both Nick and Geno said at the same time.

Well, excuse me.

~Jonathan Toews~

I watched the forwards tackle each other, pretending to fight. Apparently Filppula informed Trovato about the non-existent ‘Crosby Vs. Ovechkin’ battle, and they were pretending to fight it out.

“My name is Sidney Crosby, and I will eat you for dinner, Alex Ovechkin!”

“Prepare to eat your words, Crysby!”

And so it would continue. They coach had given up about three hours into their practice, leaving the last hour for half of Finland’s team to mess around on the ice.

Both players had removed their skates, standing only in their socks. They had removed their padding in the locker room, and game out in their practice jerseys only, keeping the rest of their lower padding and helmets on.



I watched the smaller of the two maul the other, bursts of laughter erupt from them as the rolled around into the net.

~Anna Trovato~

I slumped in the bar stool against Semyon, who seemed to be as loopy as I was. I had spent the entire USA/Canada and Russia/Slovakia games cheering with both him and Nick, though only the latter stayed for the second game.

“I feel as if I just had really bad sex.” The looks from both of them were enough to send us into another fit of giggles, as I took in more of the alcohol that rested in front of us.

Needless to say, my Trovato jersey caused quite an uproar, considering I had worn it to both games. All the way from “Are you that guy’s girlfriend?” to “Can I have his autograph?”, back to “Tell him to go the fuck home!”

“If they don’t hate you, you aren’t doing your job right,” Nick offered, as I was so politely rammed into again inside of the compact, dimly lit bar.

“О, великий.” (Oh, great.) I looked to Varlamov, before following his gaze, only to lose it.

“Расслабьтесь, Семе-poo!” (Relax, Semy-poo!) I hiccupped, obviously hitting my breaking point with the beverages. He gave me a pointed glance, his dark eyes becoming slightly cloudy, a sight that meant we were feeling the same.

“Может быть, мы должны уйти.” (Maybe we should leave.) I looked over to Nick, shaking my head, ignoring Varly’s suggestion.

“We shouldn’t,” I hiccupped again. “Stay, ‘cause I don’t wanna leave.”

Apparently, whatever kidnapped Varly’s attention, took Nick’s, making the two of them sharing a closed look. “Anna, we will be right back. Don’t do anything stupid.”

And with that, the two vanished, their spot being taken by none other than Evgeni Malkin.

“Я задавался вопросом, почему Варлам снял так быстро после игры. Имея Добрый вечер, дорогая?” (I wondered why Varly took off so fast after the game. Having a good evening, sweetheart?) I smiled, having the warm feeling in my body continue spreading, the alcohol slowly consuming my senses.

“Это потому, что он любит меня больше, чем вы! Хорошая игра, кстати,” (It’s cause he loves me more than you! Good game, by the way.) I spoke, my grip on the bar top strengthening, as I tried to stop my swaying.

~Alexander Semin~

I ignored the blonde to my right, and Ovie’s constant kicks under the table, as I watched Malkin’s constant glances back over to us.

I knew very well who he was talking to, and the ‘Trovato’ jersey she was wearing, only furthered my dislike for the female.

Forget my thinking she was Italian, like her boyfriend. Why was this now-apparent Russian puck slut dating an Italian hockey player, who is probably going to end up in the NHL? Money. That’s all it ever came down to anymore.

I had heard the foreign exchange between Anna and Evgeni, her and Varly also, when we were first introduced, and I remembered thinking that she picked up what she could, to converse and get in their pants, but this was on a whole knew level.

Going to different players from all over, just to get laid. “Жалкие.” (Pathetic.)

“Alex, babyyyy?” I looked over to the female rubbing against my arm, and sighed.

~

I shifted around in my seat, directly behind Finland’s penalty box, as they hit the 5:00 mark left of the second period. I watched the young Italian player slide up towards the next with Finland’s captain.

Trovato had spent the last fourth of the first period in the penalty box for tripping. I happened to have spent those few minutes waiting in the god-awful long line of a Canadian bathroom.

I had also spent the past two days, going to my own practice, one game, and searching on the internet.

I couldn’t find anything I could use on Trovato. A. Trovato this, A. Trovato that. Not even a first name. Loads of pictures eventually surfaced. All A. Fucking. Trovato.

“Goal, Finland! Scored by Timonen, assisted by Koivu and Trovato, on the power play!”

I looked away from my now-vibrating phone, to the ice, where the trio was clobbered by their fellow players. Only that one of them was outside of the Finnish mauling.

Both Trovato and Filppula were embracing, creepily. “Великий. Он гомосексуалист..” (Great. He’s homosexual.)

~

I propped my feet up on the seat in front of me, as I kept my focus on center ice.

“Trovato!” I looked to the Right Winger, who nodded with the Center who called their name. The two exchanged nods, and skated past each other, trading positions. The original Center hopped over the boards to the bench, and another Winger came out, taking Trovato’s place on the ice.

I watched the kid lean down, preparing for the face off against Germany’s Center.

“Что ебешь?” (What the fuck?)

The puck dropped, though I hardly noticed, as I played Trovato moved. He definitely played like some of those I had seen in the KHL & with Lada.

“Напоминает Алексея, не так ли?” (Reminds you of Alexei, doesn’t it?) The seat next to me had been claimed by Ovechkin. He kept his gaze on the ice, motioning for me to do the same.

Watching the forward, my focus shifted to his style of play.

He held his stick loosely, allowing for maximum mobility, and control, ironically. His stance was generally relaxed, and his strides were varied, from long and powerful, to short and quick. He had skill, no doubt, but I wasn’t sure if it was enough in general.

If this is how he plays all the time, then sure. He’ll be fine. But no one plays like that, 100% of the time.

“Почему он изменил позицию? Зачем ему играть, как это?” (Why does he change positions? Why would he play like that?)

“5 minute penalty on #57 of Finland. Holding.” The gruff voice of the Canadian referee filled our ears, as the penalty box door was slammed shut, and the boyfriend of the girl I couldn’t stand, was right in front of me.

“Вы говорили с ним еще?” (Have you spoken with him yet?) I shook my head.

Before I knew it, Ovie was tapping on the plexi-glass, seeking the Italian’s attention.

Was this my chance to recognize Trovato, and realize that I’ve been walking past him for the past week and a half? Perhaps. But that chance wasn’t mine to take.

As soon as the brunette turned and laid eyes on Ovie, he jumped back to looking at the ice, refusing to turn back around.

“Так я и думал.” (Just as I thought.) I turned to my teammate.

“Что?” (What?) I had only been able to see tanned skin. I couldn’t think of any relatively dark people I had seen previously, recently.

Perhaps my Captain had solved the world’s problems, and knew who this guy was, but he wasn’t spilling. Only standing up, and making his way towards the aisle, he silently left me sitting there awkwardly.

~Anna Trovato~

I shook my head, mumbling to myself, as I willed myself not to turn around and beat the crap out of Ovechkin. Not like I would do much damage, but oh well.

The look on his face alone, however, was enough for me to know that I had a long conversation to look forward to tonight.

“That’s the end of the second period! Get your ass out!” Val has banging on the glass in front of me with his stick, laughing like a hyena. I grinned, popping out the door as fast as I could. I saw who Ovechkin was sitting next to, and who continued to hound me visually.

~Alexander Semin~

I waited outside the locker room, for the Italian to come out.

“Who are you waiting for? I can have them come out..”

I turned to the deep voice of Teemu Selanne, his freshly showered hair sticking to his face, body clad in ‘Team Finland’ clothing.

“Uh, Trovato?” I willed myself to keep calm and relaxed, as I pushed my hand through my own hair.

“He’s busy. Come back later.” The door slammed shut

“Спасибо за проверку даже, мудак.” (Thanks for even checking, asshole.) I walked through the tunnel that led to the ice, giving the media time to clear out of the locker rooms, and for Trovato to do his thing, or whatever.

My ears were met with the scraping of ice, and I turned around the corner, to see the man himself gliding across the ice.

“Pathetic, isn’t it? We win 5-0, and still takes the blame of the loss.” I looked to my right, to see Valtteri Filppula on the bench, resting against the boards, as his teammate continued doing a weird version of suicides. “I know you speak English, so there’s no reason hiding it.”

I shrugged, noticing the pair of gloves thrown to the side. “Why?”

“’Didn’t score’. That was the excuse I was given, at least. It used to be some stupid post-game ritual, doing a set 5 of nightmare suicides. ‘Humility’, is the reason I was given for that one. I stopped questioning it long ago.”

I ignored the blonde’s looks, watching the forward punish himself unnecessarily. Goal line, red, goal line, blue, goal line, center, goal line, deep blue, goal line, deep red, goal line, goal line, 20 push ups, goal line. Rinse and repeat. “Nightmare suicides?”

“Yeah, taught hem to us h… himself. Said it’s how he practiced in Italy and Finland, when we came back for the regular season. Kinda sad, really,” I stole a glance at the Finn, who watched his teammate kill himself. “I’m surprised you haven’t met him before. I’m pretty sure you guys have competed against each other.”

“I’m not sure, either. Is he planning on coming to the NHL?”

“He already signed a six-month contract with Avangard Omsk, I think, out of the KHL. They have a player undergoing surgery, so he’s taking his spot. Received quite a few NHL offers, and limited it down to five. Though the list may be down to two or three, and he’ll finish out the 2010-2011 season with another team, and then talk extensions. It’s going to be hard. You should know, coming down to NHL-sized rinks. New rules, new ice, new people. Everyone already hating you, though I don’t know if you had to deal with that.”

I looked back to the ice, to see Trovato slide into push-up position. He did two, and then collapsed against the ice, head behind the far side of the goal post. “Everyone hates him?

“Came out of nowhere, honestly. If I hadn’t met Trovato years ago at the World Juniors, this would have been the first time I had even heard of him, and I’d be pissed off. Italy kept him quite under wraps,” He sighed, grabbing Trovato’s gloves and shoving them into his equipment bag. “I’ve never known Trovato to cry, and the past several nights, some shit has been said that really hit home with him, and he came in bawling. Wouldn’t even talk to me about it. Backstrom, your Backstrom, mentioned something about it, which was the only way I found out. People haven’t been very nice about it, merely because they had no idea, and are taking it out of him.”

I looked over to Filppula, who made his way past me. “Aren’t you going to go get him?”

I looked back towards the young Center on the ice.

“One thing I have learned about my friend,” He paused in the hallway, still facing away from me. “Is that you have to give him time, and let him grow on his own. Otherwise, your efforts will be fruitless.”

I heard him walk away awkwardly on his skates, as Trovato went to do another push-up, only to fall again after two. I slid onto the ice with my shoes, no more than three feet on the ice, before the Italian barely whispered.

“Leave me be. Please.”

~Anna Trovato~

I sighed, before passing the puck up past Nick, only to be stopped by Semyon. We were having one-on-one rounds, to pass the time before they kicked us out of the rink for the morning games. It was the last day of pre-lims, before we had a full day off.

“Take it easy, Anna,” Geno shouted in his native tongue. He had already sat against the benches, due to his game that started in the short course of 5 hours, against Czech.

“I am.” I nudged Nick with my shoulder, wishing we had used padding during this little escapade, and stole the puck from his stick. Scraping forward, I launched the puck into the upper corner of Varly’s net, and threw my stick to the ice. “Trovato scores the gold medal-winning goal of the 2010 Winter Olympics against Sweden-Slash-Russia!”

Nick grabbed me from behind, and started tickling me, as he drug my spasing body to the bench to rest for a moment. “Good luck with that, darling.”

~

Whoever said to treasure the good moments in life, obviously never competed with the most arrogant assholes on the planet.

“Anna Banana, wake up, please. We need to leave.” I sat up, pushing Nick’s hands away from my face, as he had been squishing my cheeks together to wake me up.

“Ah, so Sleeping Puck Bunny is awake. Where’s your boyfriend? I’d like somewhat of a challenge before I play today.” I froze at the mention of that accent-clad voice that overtook my ear drums.

I stood drowsily, stepping onto the ice, before grabbing my stick, and throwing it to his skate-covered feet.

“Пошел на хуй, Алекс Семин.” (Fuck you, Alex Semin.)

~Nicklas Backstrom~

I sat next to the fuming brunette, who looked less than thrilled to be sitting behind Russia’s bench.

“Give the guy a chance, Anna!”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, before we begin the second period, please not the time changes of tonight’s match up against Finland and Sweden. The game has been delayed for approximately one hour. We will keep you posted.”

I looked to my future opponent, who looked like her day couldn’t have gotten worse. “At least we’ll have longer to get ready and such?”

She shook her head. “And I’ll be spending all of tomorrow sleeping, at this rate.”

~

“3 minute penalty on #28 of Russia. Tripping.” I wasn’t quite sure how the Russians felt about the girl next to me whooping and cheering for the Russian winger being sent to the penalty box, but if looks could kill, Anna would have never been born.

Chuckling, I grabbed her wrist, jerking her back into her chair. “Behave, Anna Banana.”

She only smiled at me, pulling her hair back into a hair tie. “Why not? Oh, I signed my contract this morning after the whole ‘asinine-fool-incident’. It’s good for the last half of the 2010-2011 season, since I have to fulfill my contract with Avangard, and the 2011-2012 season. Starts after some ‘All-Star Game’, or whatever.”

“Why’d you sign a contract in the KHL?” I gaped. It was a bold move, signed a half-year contract, considering it rarely happened.

“They had a spot open, and apparently they only liked one draftee, so I went about three weeks ago, and they seemed happy enough, and offered me a temporary position, since one of their current forwards is going through surgeries. Otherwise, I would have signed a year contract with someone, and worry about an extension later.”

I beamed, probably scaring the woman next to me. “Well, who are you going with?”

The young girl only shook her head. “I don’t know. You tell me?”

~Anna Trovato~

I pushed Geno’s card into the key-lock of his hotel room, and smiled. There was shit EVERYWHERE. I loved it. We hadn’t even been in the hotel two weeks, and it already looked like a hockey player’s room.

“I call TV.” Nick teased, diving on the bed for the remote.

“Careful, you might catch something. Who knows what Ovechkin brings home at night.” I teased, sticking my tongue out, before grabbing a clean towel off the dresser.

“Why don’t you just shower in your own room?” I bit my lip softly, when the Swede came to stand next to me.

“Val’s had some girl up there the past couple of days, and I’m kinda sick of trying to sleep, while they are going at it. In my bed.”

He grimaced, letting me past. “Oh.”

~

I wrapped the fluffy towel around me, as I reached around to pull my ponytail out of the back of it where it was confined, before I heard voices outside the door.

“Sonofafirecracker.” I mouthed, before turning the doorknob and walking around. At least if it was only Malkin, I could have borrowed clean clothes, long enough to head upstairs and get dressed.

“Why is she in here showering?” I heard the voice of Alex Semin bleed through the now closed door that I leaned against.

“Her room mate is bedding someone right now, and she didn’t want to have to experience it again.” Thank you, Mr. Backstrom.

“Leave her alone, Sasha.” Ilya mumbled, who was probably the one scrolling through the television channels.

“Кто-то не прекращают говорить о какой-то женщиной.” (Someone can’t stop talking about a certain female.) Evgeni defended, teasing his fellow native Russian in their own tongue.

Ovechkin’s laugher followed shortly, by a loud ‘thump!’

~

I breathed heavily, as I lined up against Nick for the face-off.

“You alright? You don’t look so hot, Anna.” I smiled softly at the Swede, as we waiting for the ref to drop the puck.

I had played right wing all throughout the entire first period, and they kept calling penalties on us like crazy. There was only two of us on the ice at one point, Val and I, besides our netminder, with both Joni Pitkanen and Timonen in the box, leaving us defenseless, since all three of our right wingers decided to get hurt during the beginning of first period. That little move forced one of us to go back. Three guesses who had to do it. I definitely didn’t like playing forward-defense-goalie 3-man lineups. That shit sucked.

Especially when Sedin tripped me, knocking me into the goal post.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” I had Val on my right, Koivu on my left, Pitkanen and Lepisto on defense. They only had one goal on us, but Koivu insisted on pushing them up.

The puck dropped, and we lost, nick passing it back to another Swedish defensemen, who passed it back up to one of the wingers.

I dropped back, like we practiced over and over and over before the game, giving Sweden leeway into overconfidence.

I had Nick shadowing me, his winger wrestled the puck with Val and Lepisto. “Trovie!”

I blinked. That’s a new one. I reached out with my stick, grasping the puck, before I felt a weight slam into my side, knocking both Nick and I across the ice tumbling.

“Majour Penalty on #25 of Finland. Attempt to injure, Misconduct, Game Misconduct.”

The penalty announcement didn’t even ring in my ears, as I tried to blink back the red that covered my eyes.

The colour began to fade away, my vision clearing, to reveal Joni nearly in tears, Val, and Nick, who had burns on his face where he scraped against the ice.

“Kultaseni, oletko kunnossa. En tarkoita sitä, vannon! En voinut pysähtyä kun näin että se olit sinä!” (Sweetheart, are you alright. I didn’t mean it, I swear! I couldn’t stop by the time I saw it was you!) I patted his hand, which rested on my shoulder.

“Se on kunnossa. Ei vahinkoja, mielestäni hieno.” (It’s alright. No damage done, I feel fine.) I grimaced, feeling a touch sore from where I had probably threw my shoulder out again.

Nick scoffed, as the referee began to pull Joni, who I noticed was bleeding from his eye, back. “You might need a new stick.”

I raised my eyebrows, and he held up half of it. “Well, no shit, Sherlock.”

He smiled, looking down on me, his helmet, I noticed, thrown to the side. “I see you got to see some American films in Italy.”

I chuckled, closing my eyes for a moment, as I laid my head against the ice. I sighed. “Yeah.”

“Whoa, hey, none of that. Wake up!” I opened my eyelids, to find Val grabbing one of my arms, and Nick pulling the other over his head, preparing to support me on his shoulder.

“Let me go, Nicklas. I can walk by myself.” I pulled my arm from Val, who skated over to the board door that led to the tunnel.

“Shut up, and look at your leg. Then tell me if you can walk.” I looked to the man, the seriousness in his tone, before almost glancing down.

“What happened?” We stood there, as the refs argued amoungst themselves in front of us, blocking the exit.

“Your team mate was making a run for me, and you took the blunt force of it. I got scrapped up a bit, and your stick snapped. It was apparently very angry with you for pushing yourself too hard during the first period, and decided to make a kabob out of your leg. One of your wingers then decided to beat the fire out of him, when he saw the blood.”

My eyes widened, as I gulped, looking down.

“Mother fucker.”

~

“Dammit!” I bit down on the rag, and the doctors strapped my right leg to the bed in the Athletic Medical Room. They hadn’t even started yet, and my left leg with the siskabob was hurting like a bitch.

“Calm down, Miss Anna. We’ll get this fixed, just bare with us. We need to get to your leg itself, so we’re going to cut through the fabric,” Sweden’s doctor wiped my forehead with a cool, wet cloth, as he smiled down at me, as he stood next to my right arm.

“Are my skates off?” He laughed softly, before nodding.

“Mr. Backstrom got those off, along with your upper padding, jersey, and lower padding. Took skill, that did, since you didn’t react the entire time, though that could have been the delirium.” I nodded again, feeling really tired.

The ‘Team Finland’ underarmour I was wearing seemed to weigh a million pounds, as I felt the pressure of the scissors cut into my uniform. I looked up slightly, to see the Finland doctor doing the cutting.

“Miss Anna, I can say I am quite surprised to find out that you are not male. We looked, and your paperwork said female. I’m just surprised no one knew, this late in the game,” The doctor spoke again, earning laughs from both Val and Nicklas, who held my left arm and right leg down.

“I didn’t want added pressure on my team. They needed to focus on winning. Not me. Please do not let this leave this room.” I bit down again, before I could finish, as the other doctor pulling my pant-legs off, leaving me in cut-off now-shorts, and my underarmour.

“Of course, Miss Trovato. The stick went all the way through, so before we can straighten the limb, we need to pull it out about an inch, so we can fully extend your leg. This will hurt. Mr. Backstrom, if you could ass-..”

The doctor was cut off, before I heard angry Russian shouts, and the door slam open.

I felt tears well up in my eyes, at the sight of Evgeni and Semyon.

Semyon’s eyes travelled to my thigh, where the intrusion began, before walking to the Finnish doctor, who began directing him to get gauze and other various items from the cabinet.

“Анна, клянусь богом, вы дали мне мать трахается сердечный приступ! Ты в порядке?” (Anna, I swear to God, you gave me a mother fucking heart attack! Are you okay?) He grasped my extended hand, moving to my right side, as the Swede doctor began preparing for the removal.

“The x-rays are back. It barely missed the bone, but did go through. The damage is not permanent, and you will be alright, as long as we get the stick out as soon as poss-..Get some ice! She’s loosing too much blood!”

I felt my eyes roll back into my head, as I loosened my grip on Geno’s hand.

“Я в порядке, Гено. Они должны вытащить его сразу, не с шагом.” (I’m fine, Geno. They need to pull it out at once, not in increments.) I mumbled, as I felt the blood begin to drip down my leg, socked my now-shorts.

“Geno, I need you to keep her pressed down. Don’t let her raise up. I don’t care what it takes, you better keep her down. We can’t extend the leg without damaging the nerves.” I blinked again, feeling the numbness creeping up my leg.

They began strapping my right leg and arms down, glancing at my midsection momentarily, as if contemplating the option. Val attached another two to my right leg, so he could assist the doctors freely. I opened my eyes again, to see his slightly splattered with blood. He had taken his equipment off, standing only in underarmour, lower padding, and socks.

Nick was the same, though seemed to be freaking out a bit more than Val, who had probably already nearly threw up. The boy could never stand the sight of blood, we found out.

Geno gripped my other hand, as I looked at him, trying to distract from the towels they were placing below my leg. His white shirt and blue jeans were still clean, though I didn’t see how. He never stayed in clothes more than a few hours, for they always got dirty.

“Anna! Stay with us!” The doctor snapped his fingers in front of my face, earning my attention.

I nodded, before he gave everyone the signal, and gripped the stick, Val and the Finnish doctor holding my leg down.

~

In my life, I never considered myself a screamer, though I could hardly compare any situation to this. If my mother back home couldn’t hear my scream, it was indeed a miracle.

The blood-socked rag didn’t help much, as the stick began sliding out of my flesh, covering both the doctor and I in my blood. Even with that godforsaken cloth, I’m sure my screaming woke someone up. Funny? Perhaps, though at that moment, it wasn’t.

“Hang on, Miss Anna. It’s almost out. Breathe for us,” The doctor kept cooing to me, though it was starting to piss me out.

“Just pull the son of a bitch out, please! I’m begging you!” I clinched my teeth, when I saw the stick still halfway in.

Geno roared with laughter. “At least we know she still with us!”

I glared at him, as he smiled back at me softly. I felt Nick’s lips on my forehead, after he continued to place a cool cloth on my forehead. Evgeni snickered, as the doctor began poking at the skin around the shaft. The tall European’s lips turned upward in a smirk, when I felt the stick begin to move.

True to his word, when I felt the need to jerk my leg, Evgeni pushed his lips against mine, completely rearranging my focus.

The pressure began intensifying unbearably on my leg, as I felt the shaft of wood begin to slide out again. I tightened my grip on Evgeni’s hand, as I heard his voice again, which followed a quick spur of Russian.

“Let us pull stick out. Semyon hold hand.” I softly whimpered, when he released my hand, but Semyon’s quickly replaced it, as I watched Geno walk over to the doctor, and grasp the stick.

“Okay then. 3.. 2.. 1..Now!” Luckily for the people in the room, I couldn’t scream anymore, though that towel had met its end, as I gripped it in a death grasp. The same went for Nick & Semyon’s hands, though I focuses on the towel.

That piece of cloth was my mortal enemy. It stood in the way of winning gold. Son of a bitch was going d-..

“There.” I relaxed my body, as I moved my leg up and down, to much of the doctors’ surprise. “Healing already. A very good sign.”

Nick and Varly undid the straps on my arms, allowing me to sit up slowly, and see the damage.

Despite Geno grinning, holding the stick like a trophy, it hurt worse than it looked. “Attack with Neosporin, it leave no scar.”

I rolled my eyes at him, as the Finnish doctor began applying the medicine and crème, and left the Swedish doctor to wrap it up. “Who won?”

Nick laughed, rubbing my back softly. “The game ended like an hour ago. 5-0, us. Don’t worry about it though. We’re both going to the Quarterfinals, so we have two days off.”

“I would recommend Miss Trovato not play in the match-up on the 24th. I have full confidence in her team to go to the Semi-Finals, at the very least. Practicing on it slowly will help you strengthen it up, but please note that the muscle is going to be very tense and soft. Like a baby, so treat it as such, in the beginning.”

~Alexander Semin~

I leaned against the wall of the tunnel, waiting for Trovato’s screams to die down.

Twenty minutes later, Geno and Varly came out of the Medical room with Nick. Geno was soaked in blood, and blabbering like a fool, as he drug Semyon down the hall, who looked somewhat tired, as he rubbed his hand.

“Sasha? You alright?” I looked to Nick, who also held a tired look about him.

My blood boiled, as he looked at my innocently. I shot my hand out, grabbing his shoulder, slamming him against the wall, as he didn’t fight back. “Who else is in there?”

He looked at me with a straight face. “Trovato, and both team doctors.”

“What happened to him?”

I furrowed my brow, as Backstrom looked back to the door. “His stick broke, and lodged itself into his leg. We had to pull it out. That’s why Geno is laughing about it. He was happy he got to help his friend.”

I clinched my teeth. “How do you guys know him, yet I have never heard of him?”

The Swede in front of me was silent for a long time. I wasn’t sure he was going to answer me, when I relaxed my hand away from him.

“We met at the World Championships. Finland Vs. Sweden. I’m sure that’s how others know Trovato as well. He had a.. pretty closed childhood, so that was definitely the only way. It doesn’t matter, I guess.” He shrugged, leaning against the wall, dutifully prepared for the interrogation.

I felt bad for acting harshly against my friend and teammate, but I wanted to get to the bottom of this. “Where’s his girlfriend? Why is she not in there with him?”

If it wasn’t for the guilty look plastered on his face, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. “I don’t know?”

~Sidney Crosby~

I slid back into the locker rooms, to grab my left behind phone from my stall, to find equipment still there, the ‘Trovato’ name tag still tapped to the top of the area.

I looked around to see if anyone was nearby. “Trovato?”

A far away voice came from around the corner, in the shower area. “You alright? I saw the fall.”

The water shut off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just peachy. You left your phone. It’s on the top shelf.”

“Yeah, thank you for not letting anyone get it. If you need anything, let me know.” And with that, I made my way out of the locker room, phone in my pocket, still vibrating from the mass influx of texts I received from no doubt from Jon.

~Anna Trovato~

I straightened my leg, as I waited for the elevator doors to open. If I tensed the muscle, you could barely tell that I was favouring my right leg.

As the metal doors unveiled the floor where the USA team was, I made my way down the hall, in search of Patrick Kane’s room, who had texted me earlier, asking if I had seen Trovato’s fall, and if I wanted to come watch the rerun.

Preoccupied with the number son the doors, I didn’t see the person in front of me, when his shoulder hit me, and the DVD in his hands fell to the ground.

I turned, kneeling down to grab the movie, and handed it back to the Canadian. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

He smiled back at me, the whites of his teeth showing prominently. “It’s no big deal. I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you a competitor?”

I shook my head, keeping the smile on my face. “Nope. Just here to support some friends.”

He smiled again, as the elevator dinged down the hall. “My name’s Sidney Crosby.” He extended his hand. “I was a pleasure to meet you, Miss..?”

I took his hand in mine. “Anna. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sidney.”

I know exactly who you are.

I proceeded to make my way past him, when he called out my name.

“Yes?” I turned back to the Canadian alternate captain, pausing in my adventure.

“You okay? You look pretty pale.” I smiled at the small gesture of concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just peachy.”

~Alexander Semin~

I kept my attention on the doors to the entrance of the bar, where Varlamov said she would be coming, after he invited her to grab something to drink.

I picked up my bottle, taking another swig of the liquid, when I heard laughing at the bar.

Ignoring the complaints from the red-head next to me, I stood, stomping angrily to the bar stools.

“Where the fuck were you when your boyfriend got hurt?”

She turned, her eyes directly meeting mine, for the first time in a while. “We broke up? Get off my fucking case. I don’t have to explain shit to you. I’ve been through a lot tonight, so I don’t need your bullshit.”

I clinched my teeth again, grabbing her wrist, only to be knocked back by the other.

“You don’t have the right to touch me, you stupid son of a bitch.” She glared, turning completely around in her chair, before hopping down to stand in front of me.

I stepped forward, meeting her challenge, before Backstrom, Ovechkin, and Varly was a grip on my. Kovalchuk stood behind the slut, Malkin next to her rubbing her back, whispering into her shoulder. So much for team chemistry.

~

Something wasn’t right. I had spent the past twenty minutes arguing with the hotel clerk about needing to check on my ‘friend’. After signing two pucks, and tickets to the Vancouver/Washington game, I was the proud owner of a room 621 card key.

I pushed the ‘6’ button of the elevator, and waiting as the device began moving towards the upper floors.

After a few moments, it dinged, allowing me to step on the plush carpet that floored Floor 6.

I made my way sluggishly down the hall, rubbing my face to wake me up slightly, when the elevator dinged again, followed shortly giggling. A blonde boy ran past me, when I turned, and a brunette bumped into my barely, obviously a little more than drunk.

She hiccupped. “S-sorry!” She smiled at me, eyes glassy, before following her friend into a random door, the bolt snapping shut resonating throughout the floor.

I sighed, shaking my head. ‘Anna’, if that was even her real name, didn’t even recognize me. A shame, really, but I was bushed. The headache that I got from where she punched me was still having a strong effect on me, causing me to become even more tired, faster.

I looked up after a few more step of walking, and came face to face with room 621.
Knocking on it slightly, I felt my stomach drop when I heard giggling from the other side.



I was met with two sets of eyes on my, the blonde boy from early, whom I recognized as Valtteri Filppula, nipping on Anna’s bare shoulder, where he had slid the wide-necked shirt and bra strap down.

So she’s a cheater.

“C-Can I help you, s-sir?” She giggled again, as the blonde kept poking her side. She was swaying slightly, though his hands on her hips held her somewhat firmly in place.

I shook my head. “Доброй ночи.” (Good night.)



No can do, my friend. I saw it myself.