Illusions

Loren’s palms were sweaty and her stomach was doing cartwheels. Every time she swallowed she thought it was going to be the last before everything came back up to greet her. It seemed cruel and ironic that she got so nervous over an integral part of her job. Even after so long she was unable to grow used to it. Something about the swarm of reporters scared her to death, though she couldn’t afford to show it. The blinding lights of the cameras, the cold, unwelcoming metal of the recorders — she had no idea how anyone could adjust to that type of life.

“Press conference?” Kris asked, appearing at her side from out of nowhere.

Loren nodded, staring straight ahead and avoiding everyone’s glances. She wiped her palms on her jeans a few times, happy to have worn dark denim, and went over her responses in her mind. The questions weren’t going to be anything new: they’d want updates on Sidney’s concussion and an estimated time of arrival for his season debut. She had no concrete answers. There weren’t any. It wasn’t up to her to decide when he’d be back. Health issues were out of her control — out of everyone’s control. He’d be back as soon as he was healthy again…whenever that was.

“They’re awful aren’t they? All demanding and rude.”

Loren smiled, thankful for Kris’s presence. She hadn’t a clue where the man of the hour had gotten to. The team’s morning practice had ended an hour ago. When Sidney told the media he wasn’t going to be answering questions it became Loren’s responsibility. That’s what she did: she picked up his slack. Sometimes the responsibility was harder to bear than others but she always seemed to make it through. Her job would be on the line if she didn’t.

“You’ll do fine, Lo. You always do.”

He placed his large hand on her shoulder and squeezed, putting an extra emphasis on his words. He meant them. Loren made all of their lives easier and she didn’t even know it. They no longer had to play go-between with Sid and the reporters. They were able to focus on themselves, to answer questions they knew the answers to, and Loren took an unreasonably large amount of weight off their shoulders.

“I know,” she finally responded, sighing heavily. “I just — Why don’t they understand that no news is good news? Why do we keep having to tell them the same thing every week?”

Kris shrugged, staring at the rows of reporters from the other side of the glass. The pair had been standing outside of the press room for almost ten minutes. Loren liked to call it ‘stalling’ — keeping the media on the edge of their seats, thinking she was too busy retrieving top-secret information to come speak with them right away — but Kris saw right through her. They scared her to death. You wouldn’t be able to tell by the way she handled them, however. There wasn’t a stutter in her words or a bit of second-guessing in her body language.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Kris asked, glancing down at her. Loren, compared to the company she had been employed to keep, wasn’t a particularly tall woman. She blended in seamlessly in a crowd and within the throngs of reporters, but compared to him and his teammates, she wasn’t so lucky in the height department.

“I think I got it,” she answered. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

She gave him one last smile before straightening her shirt against her body and entered the room. Kris watched the way her demeanor shifted immediately, like a chameleon adapting to new surroundings. She kept her head held high, her smile confident and warm, and there was a pip in her step he only saw her bring out when she was dealing with unfamiliar faces. Loren, undoubtedly, was a creature of habit.

Loren took her usual spot behind the large conference table, adjusted her mic and stared straight ahead. She knew better than to make eye contact with anyone. That was the first thing the Public Relations department had taught her: never make eye contact, don’t interrupt whoever’s speaking, and never answer a question you don’t understand. There was no doubt they knew what they were doing — those rules had saved Loren’s ass a time or two.

“Miss Hamilton, do you have any update regarding Sidney Crosby’s condition?”

Loren tried (and failed) to find the source of the question. When she realized it was just another face in the crowd, she plastered on a smile and shook her head. “Not at this time. However, Mr. Crosby has been meeting with his attending physicians throughout the week.”

“Does that mean there will be an update soon?”

“It’s possible, but I have no definitive answer at this time.”

“Miss Hamilton, you released a statement last week regarding the status of Jordan Staal. Are you also working with him?”

Loren shook her head. “No, Mr. Lemieux had me put together the statement so it would be delivered to all of you lovely people on time.”

She was a natural. As much as she hated the press and as nervous as they made her, it was obvious she’d landed the perfect job. She could lie her way out of anything and still remain trustworthy and honest. She could deal with nosy reporters and still find it possible to trust people. Jordan had accused her of being too professional, of being unable to detach herself from her job. While there was some truth to this, it wasn’t concrete. There were aspects of the job she could compartmentalize, but not all of them.

“Do you have any response to the rumors going around that Sid will be traded once he’s able to clear health waivers?”

Loren couldn’t help herself as a chuckle escaped her. “Absolutely ridiculous. Mr. Crosby won’t be leaving Pittsburgh anytime soon.”

The mob of reporters kept firing questions at her — most of them dealing with Sidney’s concussion, some dealing with rumors — until she could barely think straight anymore. Mentally, press conferences were exhausting. Physically, they made Loren yearn for the nearest shower that wasn’t located in a locker room. But she kept trucking on, answering any and all questions were shot at her, until the allotted time was over and they all went home with fewer answers than they’d started with.

Kris was waiting for her when she exited the room. To anyone who wasn’t him, she’d look like a million bucks. However, he took in all the subtle differences: the one curl that kept falling in her eyes, the smudge of her eyeliner, the imprint her ring left on her finger from her twirling it around so much. In the twenty minutes she’d been talking to the reporters, he hadn’t had anything else to do but study her. She was interesting, no one would dispute that, but he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was because no one knew much about her other than she worked for Sid. There had to be a reason she kept her life outside of her job so private — a bad experience? If Sid didn’t know, Kris had little hope of finding out, but that didn’t keep him from trying to.

Kristopher Letang wouldn’t have made it in professional sports if he wasn’t persistent and determined.

“You good?” he asked, chuckling at the way the life seemed to flood back into her as soon as she left the room. Once she nodded at him, he continued. “Hungry? I have nothing to do for the rest of the day so I figured–”

“Lunch would be great,” Loren smiled.

There was something about Kris she couldn’t deny. He was the complete opposite of Jordan: quiet, shy, and he took his time once he set his sights on something. No one on the team was an angel, as they’d all had their fair share of media nightmares, but Kris was different. There were obvious similarities between him and Sidney, but the main difference was that she could hang around Kris for prolonged periods of time without wanting to swallow a shotgun.

On the way out of the Center, to the player’s lot, Loren got to thinking — about a lot of things. Sidney was bound to explode on her if he found out she was having lunch with one of his teammates, no matter how innocent it was. But he owed her. She’d just saved his ass by doing his press conference for him. The least he could do was allow her time to unwind without throwing in his two cents. Loren was well aware that was unlikely, though. Never in a million years would Sidney assume he owed her anything. As far as he was concerned, she did what she did because it was her job. He didn’t finish a game and expect the National Hockey League to send him a thank you letter.

“I don’t know what kind of music you like,” Kris remarked sheepishly. His hands immediately went to the dials on his car’s stereo system.

Loren smiled. “Anything but sports radio.”

Kris smiled and turned the volume all the way down. Rather than make himself look like a fool flipping through stations, he opted for no music at all. This was his golden opportunity to get to know her. Knowing the way she avoided hockey, it could be the only chance he’d get.

“So, Loren,” he smiled, turning to look at her as they stopped in traffic, “who are you?”

“I’m Loren,” she deadpanned, smirking as Kris’s face fell.

“I know. But what makes you Loren?”

She shrugged, unsure of how to answer his question. In truth she’d never thought about it before. No one had attempted to get to know her except Rhea and she didn’t count because they’d grown up together. There were so many things that made her who she was — where did she begin?

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “Jordan thinks I’m too professional so I guess my job’s a huge part of it.”

Kris nodded. “Are you from around here?”

“I was born in Erie and lived there for a while. I came here for college.”

“What made you want to do…this?”

Loren smiled, impressed by his chivalry. He was so careful around her. She didn’t know why — she wasn’t a porcelain doll that’d break if he handled her too roughly. But his gestures were appreciated all the same. It was a stark difference from the way she interacted with Sidney. The change was welcomed with open arms.

“Have you ever been to Erie?” she laughed. “You’re looking for the first train out of there. College was my best bet. How I wound up working for Sid I have no idea. The offer just kind of fell into my lap.”

“But you always wanted to do this? Press and stuff?”

Loren shrugged. “I guess I have. I used to watch TV and see all the famous people and want to be just like them. But I have no real talents, y’know? So it wasn’t like I could be them. So I opted for the next best thing.”

“You’re good at what you do,” Kris replied. There was a sincerity in his words that made Loren’s breath hitch; no one had ever told her that before.

“Thank you.” She was blushing. “What about you, Mr. Letang? What makes you tick?”

“Hockey,” he answered easily. “That’s all I’ve ever had.”

“True, but look where it’s gotten you.”

He smiled. He didn’t have to look to know how lucky he was. Friends of his, people he’d known for years, were back in Sainte-Julie still trying to make it. They still held on to that sliver of hope that they’d get their big break.

“I lost my best friend a few years ago. I kind of changed after that.”

Loren nodded. “You don’t have to talk about it—”

“Non,” he objected, offering the brunette beside him a warm smile, “it’s okay.”

“If it’s any consolation, I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there.”

Kris stole a glance at her, unsure of where she was heading. An obvious tension had surfaced so he decided not to push the subject. He was sure she didn’t trust him enough to spill her deepest secrets to him. There was a time and place for everything — the middle of a Pittsburgh traffic jam was not the ideal setting for such a discussion. A deep-rooted longing swelled inside him, wanting more of these moments with her. He wanted her to trust him, he wanted to be the one she confided in.

Even though he’d never admit it to anyone, not even himself, he wanted her.

&&

Sidney shoved his gear back into his hockey bag with a scowl. It was so typical that he makes one ambiguous comment and the press are all over him, hounding for a return date. He hadn’t meant to deflect his frustration onto Loren, to make her appear in his place at the press conference. But he didn’t know what else to do. Rarely did he snap like he had, to outright refuse to speak to reporters, but he couldn’t take it anymore.

Sometimes he wondered if it — the aggravation, pain, hate, complete diminishment of a personal life — was worth it. Fame and money and success surely couldn’t be worth all of that, could it? No. But hockey was. There was nothing he could do about being Sidney Crosby. He was who he was and there was obviously no changing it. Things would get better once he got back on the ice, he was sure of that, but there was no timetable on when that would be. He’d have to grin and bear it until then.

Jordan hip-bumped him in passing, earning a glare from the captain. They still hadn’t talked about what happened a few days before. Jordan could tell Sidney was still upset with him, as he didn’t pass him the puck once in practice, but he couldn’t understand why. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Loren was strictly off limits. Everyone knew that.

“Don’t you have someone’s publicist to be fucking?” Sidney growled, continuing his assault on his bag.

Jordan chuckled, infuriating him even more. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were jealous.”

“Jealous?” Sidney snorted. “Of you?”

“Of me,” Jordan confirmed. “Jordan Staal, layer of every girl you’ve ever wanted to fuck but didn’t have the balls to.”

“You didn’t fuck her,” Sidney snapped. There was almost a whimper in his voice, like he was begging Jordan to confirm his statement. “Loren told me you fucked her roommate—”

“Calm down, Kid. Christ, what happened to you? Concussion make it so you can’t take a joke anymore?”

Sidney shook his head before throwing his bag over his shoulder. Of course he could take a joke but there were certain lines he didn’t appreciate his teammates crossing.

“Stay away from her,” Sidney barked, not bothering to take a second look at the gigantic blond he’d left dumbfounded in the middle of the locker room.

As dramatic and impressive as his exit was, it didn’t get him very far. He’d made it as far as the parking lot before remembering Loren had driven him and she was nowhere to be found. The SUV she’d been lent was in her designated spot but she wasn’t inside it. Usually she was waiting, ready to unleash a string of impatient slurs on him, but he hadn’t seen her since he finished practice and told her he wanted nothing to do with the media.

He dug his phone from his pocket and dialed her number.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” he asked, attacking her like she was a puck two inches away from an open goal.

“I’m out to lunch.”

“You’re out to — Are you fucking kidding me? How am I supposed to get home?”

Loren scoffed. “I don’t know. Ask someone to drive you.”

“You’re supposed to drive me.”

“And I’m not there, so improvise. I thought captains were supposed to be good at thinking on their feet—”

“You’re unreal, you know that? How can you just leave me stranded here?”

“Stranded?” Loren nearly shrieked. “You’re at a goddamn sports arena. Stranded is the last thing I’d consider you.”

“Come pick me up.”

“No,” she responded, shocked he’d even suggest such a thing.

Sidney was stunned, too. She’d never said no to him before. Even if driving him around Pittsburgh and being at his beck and call wasn’t in her job description, she’d never turned down doing it. But he could tell something had changed. The press conference he’d forced her into was surely at the bottom of it, but he could sense that wasn’t the only thing on her nerves.

“Wait,” Sidney deflected, “who are you out with?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Is it one of my teammates?”

“I said it’s none of your business.”

Sidney mocked her scoff from earlier, only he was really in disbelief. “Who is it? Jordan’s here so it can’t be him—”

“I’m not coming back for you!” she screamed, finally losing it. “If you’re so worried about finding a ride home, go ask some random puck bunny off the street. I’m sure all of Pittsburgh would be more than willing to lend a helping fucking hand!”

“Look, if you’re mad about the press conference—”

“I’m not mad about the goddamn press conference, Sidney! I’m mad that you think I’ll drop everything when you ask me to.”

“It’s your job.”

“My job is to make sure this god forsaken city still loves you after you fuck up. That’s my job. Not a damn thing in my job requirement says I have to be your goddamn slave—”

“Now you’re just being overdramatic.”

Loren gasped. “You’re the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, Sidney Crosby. I hope you know that.”

Sidney couldn’t ignore the way she said his name like he was a disease. She made him feel two feet tall, shrinking whatever ego he’d been sporting in a matter of seconds.

When his phone started beeping, signaling his call was over, he felt even worse. What had he done? It was no wonder she felt that way about him with the way he treated her. She wasn’t some disposable girl he picked up in a club — she worked for him. She did more for him than anyone and he still found it okay to be a complete dick to her. What was wrong with him? His parents, especially his mother, had surely raised him better. This wasn’t the Sidney Crosby everyone thought they knew. This was someone else, someone new and awful and bitter, and he wasn’t sure he liked this person one bit.

“Way to go, Casanova,” Jordan chimed from behind him. “Get in, I’ll take you home.”

He shoved his bag into Jordan’s trunk, ignoring the pair of lace panties he set his bag on top of.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad did I fuck up?”

Jordan laughed. “Seriously?” Sidney nodded, bracing himself for the blow. “I don’t know, man. Probably a ten-billion.”

Sidney groaned, slamming his head backwards against the headrest. “I’m such a dickhead.”

“Something like that.”

“How do I fix this?”

Jordan shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? I don’t chase women.”

“She’s my publicist, not just some random girl. I can’t leave things this way.”

“Just apologize,” Jordan replied. “I’m sure that’d stun her to death.”

“This is so fucked up,” Sidney whispered to himself as Jordan exited the facility.

If he didn’t get back on the ice soon, his entire life was going to fall into shambles. He was certain of that.