Illusions

Loren stared blankly at the two men sitting across from her. Her night with Crosby hadn’t turned three days old and it had already become locker room gossip. She should’ve known this would happen. They were worse than teenaged girls at a sleepover and Loren was in the middle of it all. Lunch at a five-star restaurant was their way of bribing her into giving them answers to whatever questions they had, and that’s exactly where Loren found herself come her lunch break.

“You two are ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on,” Jordan urged, leaning over the table as much as someone his size could without causing it to topple over. “We’re just looking out for our captain.”

Loren snorted. “If that’s not a crock of shit—”

“All I’m saying is that if he can go for a friendly romp with you, then—”

A sharp pain erupted from Jordan’s knee and he didn’t have to ask twice where it’d come from. Kris had kicked him with excessive force, warning him against finishing his sentence. He wouldn’t have been able to handle her response although he already knew what it would’ve been. A twang of guilt crept its way onto Jordan’s face though it went unnoticed. If he had ever doubted his teammate’s feelings for the girl sitting across from him the pain in his leg dissolved them. Kris had forced everything out into the open, almost begging for direction, and Jordan had never felt more awful.

There was no way — absolutely none. Maybe in an alternate universe things could be different. There, publicists or managers would be able to date whomever they pleased. Their jobs wouldn’t keep them from a great relationship. But those thoughts were fruitless. They weren’t in some alternate universe, they were sitting in the middle of a restaurant in Pittsburgh. Rules existed there. Unless Kris wanted to cost Loren her job he’d have to push his feelings to the back of his mind. Jordan didn’t want to be the one to deliver the blow, to slap Kris in the face with a healthy dose of reality. It was obvious that Kris was still holding on to a sliver of hope. There was a tiny bit of optimism that Jordan couldn’t bring himself to kill.

“What are you and that roommate of yours doing tonight?” Jordan asked, leaning back in his seat with his trademark smirk across his lips.

“I’m working late,” Loren answered, “but I don’t know what she’s doing. You should call her.”

Jordan’s snort sounded almost identical to the one Loren emitted only a few moments before. “Good one, Lo.”

“You have a roommate?” Kris asked quietly, unsure of where he fit into the conversation. Jordan and Loren had something to talk about outside of hockey. They had inside jokes, mutual friends — Kris had never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life.

Loren nodded eagerly, almost seeming anxious for the conversation to center on anyone but Sidney. “Sure do. Her name’s Rhea. Jordan knows her pretty well.”

Jordan shrugged before stabbing at a piece of lettuce. “I couldn’t tell you her favorite color or anything, but she does like it when you—”

“That’s enough,” Loren interjected. “And her favorite color is purple, in case you wanted to know.”

Kris laughed at Jordan’s scowl. “I didn’t. Knowing a girl’s favorite color does nothing for me.”

“You’d be surprised,” Loren smiled. “One of these days you’re going to meet a drop-dead gorgeous woman and she’s not going to sleep with you unless you know her favorite color.”

“Well, then,” Jordan smiled cheekily, leaning over the table again, “what’s your favorite color, Loren?”

Loren choked on the sip of water she’d just swallowed. Kris moved around the table to slap her gently on the back, glaring at Jordan who was howling with laughter. Once everyone was settled, Loren sent the lanky blond a glare of her own and resumed eating her lunch. She stole a glance at the tiny leather watch she was wearing on her wrist, making a mental note that she had a little under an hour before Sidney had to be at the hospital for another brain scan.

“What’s the Crosby Watch say?”

“Excuse me?”

Kris snorted with laughter, catching on to Jordan’s joke right away. “That’s what they’re calling it nowadays.”

“Who?”

“The fans.”

“What are they calling what?”

Jordan sighed. “Do you just ignore the Internet’s existence or what? God, Loren, for a publicist you’re pretty damn oblivious.”

“I’m sorry I focus my attention on important things.”

“Whatever,” Jordan dismissed. “Crosby Watch is like a countdown to his return. They Photoshop his face onto pictures of watches and stuff.”

Loren pulled a face, looking to Kris for help. He merely shrugged. “I think it’s a hockey thing.”

“Must be.”

The trio topped off their meals in record time after the conversation came to a halt. Loren was running through her schedule in her mind, adding tens of minutes to everything to make sure she’d arrive on time. It’d be a five minute drive back to the arena and from there it’d be another twenty minutes to the hospital with moderate traffic. If she left by one-thirty she’d be in good shape. Jordan, however, was thinking of the night ahead. The team had off the following day and he didn’t want to spend his night holed up in his apartment drinking beer and watching Netflix alone. He contemplated inviting Kris but decided against it. Loren had already accused them of acting like a bunch of girls and, knowing Kris, he’d turn their beer-drinking-and-movie-watching session into a Kris-needs-advice-for-his-girl-problems session.

Kris, however, wanted nothing more than a night spent watching movies and drinking beer. Anything to take his mind off the woman sitting in front of him. Although he was sure she looked nice all the time, he couldn’t remember her ever looking as good as she did then. The pair of black pants she swore looked painted on and left nothing to the imagination in terms of her curves. He was glad they were at a proper, sit-down restaurant because he was certain his eyes would have never left her ass had it been visible. It was torture, something conjured up in the middle ages. The only thing helping him was that her sweater — fashionably loose — didn’t accent her chest the way he knew other tops could.

Jordan and Kris split the bill, exiting the restaurant at exactly the time Loren hoped they would. She bid them farewell once outside, opting to walk back to the arena since the guys were going the opposite direction and she saw no point in making them drive her. It didn’t take long for Jordan to start hounding his teammate.

“Did you really have to kick me?”

“Sorry, mon ami.”

“Christ, Tanger,” Jordan scowled, hiking up his jeans to survey the damage. “This is going to be bruised for weeks.”

“Put ice on it and stop bitching.”

Jordan unlocked his SUV and they situated themselves inside. “You like her so much that you have to physically abuse your teammate? What if I can’t skate?”

“You can skate just fine.”

“I said what if. I’m thinking hypothetically here.”

“You’re a drama queen.”

Jordan scoffed as he backed out of his parking space. “I am not. You’re the one laying into the shins of anyone who so much as mentions someone other than you tossing Loren’s sal—”

“Ta gueule!”

“Just because you woo the ladies with it doesn’t mean you’re allowed to insult me in languages I don’t fully understand.”

Kris rolled his eyes. “You’re a douche.”

“I’m a douche? How am I a douche?”

“You only think about her in disgusting contexts.”

Jordan cocked an eyebrow. “Disgusting? Have you seen her? It’d be anything but disgusting. Well, not necess—”

“Merde!” Kris swore. “My point exactly.”

Jordan’s SUV slowed as they hit a traffic jam. “It’s not like you can do anything about it anyway.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Uh,” Jordan drew out the word, clearly using it as a synonym for ‘stupid,’ “she’s Sid’s…whatever. And I’m sure Ray and Mario put some no-dating-players clause in her contract when they hired her.”

“No one listens to those.”

“Of course they don’t,” Jordan agreed, “but you don’t see them walking around the rink, do you?”

He had a point. Two summers earlier, when the season’s interns were brought in, everyone had their eye on a particular strawberry-blonde with the prettiest green eyes Kris had ever seen. The team was sure Crosby was going to be the one to land her — he was still the city’s most prized possession then, too, and every girl in the place had locked their sights on him upon stepping through the door — but she fell into Luca Caputi’s lap instead. The pair of them were gone by spring.

“They wouldn’t fire her. She’s Sid’s.”

Jordan pulled a very obvious face. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. She’s Sid’s.”

“They don’t even like each other.”

“What is it with you guys? Am I the only one who can tell how obvious it is?”

“What?”

“Her and Crosby!”

“What about them?”

“Christ,” Jordan groaned. “They’re crazy about each other.”

“No,” Kris argued, shaking his head. “C’est des conneries.”

Jordan stared at Kris like he’d grown ten heads. “English, please.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Jordan relented as the traffic did the same. “Whatever you say, man. Just remember I told you so when you get your supermodel heart broken when you realize you can’t have her.”

&&

Sidney wasn’t done practice by the time Loren returned to the facility. A few other players were still milling around the locker room, each greeting her nicely when they noticed her. They had warmed up to her since Jordan told them what happened. Everyone seemed impressed that she hadn’t made it public knowledge which showcased their ignorance when it came to her. Sidney sided with Jordan: Loren was better than their assumptions and she should be treated as such. If their captain said it, it had to be true.

“Loren, yeah?”

Loren smiled as Marc-Andre Fleury approached her, a megawatt smile of his own stretched across his thin face. She nodded and offered her hand; he pulled her into a hug instead. Some of the less well-known players introduced themselves, too, earning her ten new friends in a span of three minutes.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Marc said.

Loren blushed despite herself. “I’m sure it hasn’t all been good.”

“Ready to go?” she heard from behind her. Sid was standing there in a Pens t-shirt and jeans, a baseball cap pulled low to hide as much of his face as he could.

Loren said goodbye to her new friends and followed Sidney to the parking lot. They made small talk — how practice went, what he’d be going over at his appointment — before they noticed a mob of fans waiting patiently at the exit. Naturally Loren glanced at her watch; Sidney felt around his back pocket for a pen. The action didn’t go unnoticed by the woman walking with him. All of a sudden she couldn’t remember why she’d grown to dislike him so severely. This was a man who easily gave up any chance at a living normal life to do what he loved. He accepted the responsibilities that came with such fame and never complained.

Sidney shot her a look. “You think you could call the hospital and tell them I’ll be late?”

Loren eyed the size of the crowd and nodded. She dug her keys out of her pocket and holed herself up in the SUV. There was nothing she could do but wait until Sidney was done signing autographs and taking pictures. Loren’s phone, which was sitting in a cup holder between the two seats, buzzed as she received a text message.

One New Message: Rhea
Have to talk to u. Will u be home soon?

The text went unanswered. Whatever she needed to talk about could wait. Loren knew Rhea expected her to run home, drop whatever she was doing to talk to her — it wasn’t going to happen. She may have been idly sitting in her car but she was still at work. That was something Rhea would probably never understand. It’d been months since she had a job or went to school. When she moved out of her parents’ house she suckered her father into paying her share of the rent and her mother into putting $500 a month into her bank account. Having a job (and the responsibilities that went along with having one) was something Rhea would never understand. She’d never had to work for anything a day in her life.

The trunk of the SUV opened as Sidney piled in his gear. He climbed into the passenger seat moments later, buckled his seatbelt, and stared at Loren expectantly. “Are you going to drive or sit here all day?”

Loren laughed as she stuck the key in the ignition. “I wasn’t sure if you were done being famous.”

“Crazy how I haven’t played in nine months and they still love me,” he joked.

But it wasn’t really a joke. Sidney had no idea why the city of Pittsburgh hadn’t given up on him and shifted their support to someone else — someone who could go out on the ice every night and give them what they deserved. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand sitting out. A press box wasn’t how he was meant to watch a hockey game. He was supposed to be ice-level. He was supposed to watch from the bench when it wasn’t his shift. He was supposed to be barking plays at his teammates while he was right next to them, not yelling them at a television. His concussion was the hardest thing he’d ever had to go through and so far he’d been handling it horrifically.

“They’ll always love you.”

Sidney snorted. “Yeah, until I sign with the Flyers.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You never know.”

“Philly would still hate you.”

Sid didn’t reply, just nodded his head and stared out the window. Center city traffic had lessened but he was in no rush. Spending time with Loren — time spent having real conversations — was something new, something he hadn’t had enough time with to get tired of yet. They were in their honeymoon period.

“Can I ask you something?”

Loren glanced at him skeptically. “Sure.”

“All the shitty things I’ve done — why have you stayed?”

“I don’t know,” Loren shrugged. If they were going to improve their relationship they had to be honest with one another. She was going to start now. “I’ve always told Rhea it was the money but I don’t think that’s true anymore.”

“Then what is it?”

You, she wanted to say. You’re what’s kept me here. “I guess I like to feel important. Working with you — or for you, whatever way you want to look at it — does that. You’re important and I’m important by association.”

Sidney nodded, knowing that feeling all too well. Being the captain of a Stanley Cup champion team made you important. Scoring the game-winning goal at the Olympics made you important. Being the supposed face of the National Hockey League made you important. But it wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies. People hated him…people who had never met him and had no legitimate reason to dislike him. Yet people loved him without knowing him, too. He’d never understood that. Loren knew things about him that no one else did and she stuck around because he made her feel important. This went beyond her job. This was about him.

He wanted to tell her right then and there that he was done acting like an idiot, that the aggravation wasn’t worth it anymore. He’d spent too much time being a jerk and she didn’t deserve it. She’d let him expel his frustrations on her and he couldn’t let himself do it anymore. He was supposed to progressing, not regressing. Blaming someone else for what’d happened to him was ten steps backward for every one step forward. Physically healing had nothing to do with emotional healing. He couldn’t get his head back in the game if all he could focus on was his spite.

Sidney could remember the day Loren started working with him like it was yesterday. The guys had been giving him shit for days, cracking jokes about how a woman was going to come in and show him how it was done, that there was one thing a girl could do better than The Kid. That had prompted it. From the very start he felt the need to establish dominance, to shut up his teammates and make them realize he wasn’t a joke. And then he saw her and his entire game plan went out the window. Everyone’s did. They expected someone in her mid-50s, washed-up and on her last leg. Loren wasn’t any of those things.

She’d been Mario’s gift to him a month after his concussion. He’d been uncharacteristically nasty with the press and the town was starting to talk. Loren had been hired to coach him, to make sure he maintained his image even when he could not have cared less about it. To her credit, she did just that. When he couldn’t stand speaking to them, she did it for him. When he couldn’t lash out on them, she let him lash out on her. She held him up and he always let her fall. How selfish had he been without even realizing it?

“I couldn’t have gotten through these nine months without you,” he said quietly. Guilt could’ve ripped him apart if it wanted to.

A warm smile appeared on Loren’s face — the first of it’s kind that Sid had ever seen. “Don’t deify me. I’m just doing my job.”

“I know,” Sidney agreed, “but you’ve gone above and beyond for me knowing I was too much of a dick to give you any credit for it.” Loren’s smile widened. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because,” she laughed, “Rhea kept telling me you weren’t a piece of shit and I kept telling her you were. I owe her twenty bucks.”

Sidney snorted. “Would you like me to pay her?”

Loren parked the car and killed the engine. “Please don’t ever knowingly come within ten miles of her. She’s…a press nightmare, to say the least.”

The pair headed toward the hospital with matching smiles on their faces. Sidney held the door open for her and followed her into the elevator and up to the fifth floor. She opted to stay in the waiting room until his appointment was over but Sid urged her to spend her time doing something more exciting, that he’d call her when he was finished. Since his appointments could range anywhere from thirty minutes to three hours, she decided he was probably right.

&&

Her apartment was quiet when she got there. The television was on but the volume was low. Either Rhea had left and that month’s electric bill was going to be through the roof or something was off with her. Rhea didn’t do anything quietly.

“Hello?” Loren called out. Her roommate came barreling into the room seconds later, doing an impressive impersonation of Tom Cruise a-la-Risky Business.

“Finally! I’ve been texting you for hours!”

“I’ve been at work,” Loren argued. “It’s not like I can leave whenever I want to.”

“You just did, didn’t you?”

Loren rolled her eyes. “Only because the alternative was sitting in the waiting room at the hospital for hours.”

“Whatever,” Rhea dismissed. “I have good news!”

“What is it?” Loren asked slowly. Rhea never had good news. It was either really, really awful news or okay news. Nothing good ever happened to her.

“Robbie got called up!”

“He what?”

“He got called up! Can you believe it? It was either him or Bortuzzo but Robbie had that really great game a few weeks ago and—”

“He’s going to be playing for the Pens?”

“Yes!” Rhea squealed. “I almost died when he told me!”

Loren let the information sink in. There was no denying this was a huge moment for the entire Campbell family — playing in the NHL was something Rhea’s father was never able to accomplish. Now her brother had. Even if he played one game in the big leagues and they never called him up again, he was already surpassing his father’s achievements. Rhea had been waiting for this moment since Robbie got drafted. Loren honestly hadn’t expected the day to ever come.

“Wow,” she finally breathed. “Tell him I said congratulations.”

She dug her phone from her pocket and was about to text Sidney and tell him she was on her way back to the hospital when Rhea stopped her. “I wasn’t done.”

“Oh?”

“I was actually going to ask you if you could — you know — if you could do for him what you do for Sid?”

“What? Rhea, the organization pays me thousands of dollars to work with Sidney. They’re not just going to dish out the same money on a rookie.”

That wasn’t the best thing she could have said and she knew it as soon as the words left her lips. Rhea may not have been intimidating in size but she had a glare that could kill and it was currently piercing through Loren as she stood in the middle of the living room.

“He’s not just a rookie, Loren. You know him.”

“Doesn’t mean I work for free.”

Rhea scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I’m your best friend and you won’t even do this for me? You know how much this means to me and my family!”

Now it was Loren’s turn to grow furious. Rhea had no right to guilt trip her, to make her feel like Robbie’s success rested on her shoulders. The media would have no interest in him unless he proved himself. They may ask him a question or two about how nervous he is to be playing in his first NHL game but that would be it. Loren would be beating a dead horse, psyching him up for something that would probably never happen. She’d seen it a million times: kids get called up for one game and are never seen again until they’re mentioned in a trade for someone better, more established. Another team would give them a chance if they were lucky but a roster spot didn’t land in anyone’s lap — especially in Pittsburgh.

“I’m sorry, Rhea, but I can’t do it.”

The blonde shook her head in disgust. “You’re something else, Loren.”

“What do you want from me? Are you going to match my salary with Crosby? Is your daddy going to line my pockets like he does yours just so I can tell your brother what to say when maybe one desperate reporter goes to him for an interview?”

“Fuck you,” Rhea spat. “Robbie may not be a Crosby or a Malkin but he’s still my brother and I’m still going to look out for him.”

Loren scoffed. “Are you looking out for him or using him, Rhea? I’m not stupid. You didn’t accidentally bring Jordan back here that night.”

“No? Then what did I do, Loren? Please fill me in since you seem to know everything.”

“You were trying to keep par with me, show me I’m not the only one who can pal around town with hockey players. You wanted to knock my ego down a couple notches. I get Crosby, you get Staal. You thought it was a fair trade off, you thought I’d be impressed.” Loren paused, waiting for a reaction that never came. She continued, “But who’d he leave with that morning, Rhea? Who does he have lunch with and talk to his teammates about? Not you. You were just another nightly conquest, a nobody in the grand scheme of things. They’ve had girls like you countless times and you were nothing special. I’m established — they respect me. You’re only good for a few hours and your brother will be no different.”

Rhea was silent; Loren felt no remorse. She’d been taking shit from her since she took the job. Sure, Loren complained about it, but she’d made it clear from the beginning that she was useless in the hookup department. That didn’t stop Rhea (or various members of her family) from trying to call in favors: discounts on season tickets, invitations to events, meetings with the players. Their friendship may have started to fall apart because Loren was always in a sour mood but Rhea’s relentless pushing only caused it to deteriorate faster.

“While you’re off crying to your dad about how I won’t work with your brother, ask him if you can move back in. I’d rather you didn’t live here anymore.”

“What? You can’t fucking kick me out! I pay rent just like you do!”

Loren rolled her eyes. “Get real, Rhea. You’ve never paid for anything in your life except alcohol and skimpy clothes. My name’s on the lease and I actually foot my half of the bills so I’m asking you to get out.”

If looks could kill, Loren would be dead. Sidney would be stranded at the hospital and Mr. Campbell would be responsible for paying $2,000 per month for his daughter’s rent instead of half that. Loren could handle it on her own — she made at least that much in a week and she could always downsize if need be. Really she had nothing to lose by kicking Rhea out except a friend but she’d lost that months ago. This had been festering for a long time; neither girl wanted to face the truth.

“You’re going to regret ever fucking with me,” Rhea promised before she headed for her bedroom. The door slammed behind her and Loren could hear the sound of her ripping clothes from hangers.

Maybe she would grow to regret it, maybe she wouldn’t. Her last thought before she left the apartment was that things were finally where she wanted them: her relationship with Sidney was better than it’d ever been, she was making friends with his teammates instead of trying to ignore their dirty looks, and she was removing all negative influences from her life. All she did was smile as she drove in the direction of the hospital.