Retrouvailles

Sidney sat on the couch with a scowl permanently etched into his face. He should’ve been on the next flight to Ottawa; his name should’ve been on the All-Star roster. Instead, he was sidelined yet again with another concussion, missing yet another All-Star game due to injury. It was getting old—watching the games on television and cheering on his teammates from home. He knew it was no one’s fault, that no one planned for a brain injury to happen, but his optimism had faded quickly and left behind a bitterness he’d never felt before.

On top of it all, his aforementioned teammates were absolutely horrid at locker room gossip. They thought he was deaf, that he couldn’t hear their hushed whispers when they thought he wasn’t listening. He was always listening. As captain, it was his job to watch his team like a hawk. Once he heard those five words that turned his world upside down, he wished the job would’ve been anyone else’s.

Loren’s going to be there.

Just the sound of her name sent a shiver up his spine. He wasn’t sure what it was, if it was lust or infatuation or the familiar sting of loss, but it frustrated him that even after being gone six weeks she was still able to have that effect on him. He’d done an okay job at trying to forget about her—his concussion served as a nice distraction—but the fact remained that absolutely everything reminded him of her. He couldn’t drive to Southpointe without a million memories coming like a rush of blood to the head. He couldn’t even sit at the island in the kitchen to eat breakfast without thinking of her.

Still, there was nothing he could do. He was due in Los Angeles in a few days to meet with yet another doctor and an impromptu trip to Ottawa just to see his former publicist didn’t fit into his schedule. He’d daydreamed about showing up to her hotel room with a bouquet of roses and persuasive speech, pulling her into the most breathtaking kiss of her life, and refusing to leave until she agreed to come back to Pittsburgh with him. As vivid as his daydreams were, they were unrealistic. Knowing Loren, she’d probably slam the door in his face and tell him to piss up a rope.

Sidney had a hard time remembering that Loren had moved on. Wherever she’d gotten to, she had a life there now: a new job, new friends, and possibly even a boyfriend that wasn’t him. It hurt. Every time he thought of Loren living a life that didn’t include him he felt sick to his stomach. He’d confided in a few of his teammates (the ones who were married with children—the ones who’d gone through having their heart broken and finding “the one”) and they all told him the same thing: if she’s worth it, keep fighting. They didn’t tell him what to do to mind his time until he saw her again. Was he supposed to live with that god-awful feeling in the pit of his stomach? If so, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

Sighing, he pushed himself off the couch and headed to his bedroom. It was nearing three-o’clock in the morning and he hadn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in weeks. The insomnia was new. When he was healthy and playing he never had trouble falling asleep. Now that he was back on IR, he tossed and turned for hours, feeling like he’d gotten hit by a Mack truck every morning when his alarm went off. Some part of him knew it was more than just not playing. The last six weeks had been pure hell on his system: more concussion tests, more tests in general, the stress that came along with not playing, watching the team go through its losing skid, losing Loren.

She’s gone, Sid. Time to accept that and move on.

It’d become mantra: he repeated it to himself every morning yet it did nothing. They were just words. If it was up to Sidney, which technically it was, he’d never accept that she was truly gone. He’d live in a bubble where everything was as he wanted it to be. Loren would still be living in her ugly-on-the-outside apartment and Jordan would keep his dick in his pants. Gossip blogs wouldn’t exist and there’d be nothing in Loren’s contract that said she couldn’t consort with players. Feelings wouldn’t exist—neither would concussions—and he wouldn’t have spent more than half a year being the world’s biggest prima donna. But life didn’t cater to Sid’s every need and he didn’t live in a bubble.

He pulled back the comforter and slipped inside. He turned on the television and immediately put it on mute. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and did anything he could to keep him busy: checking his email, rereading unanswered text messages, going through photos. His heart stopped as he came across a picture he’d taken of Loren the night she came over and drank all his wine. It was the same night he’d apologized for the first time. After drinking nearly three-quarters of the bottle on her own, Loren transformed into someone he barely recognized. She was carefree and laughing at all his lame jokes, smiling like she was the happiest woman in the world, and not once did her voice hold any hint of bitterness or anger.

He’d snapped the picture when she wasn’t looking. A happy Loren was rare and all he wanted was something to remember that night by. He was sure he’d do something to piss her off and restore her distaste for him and if that happened he’d always have the picture as proof that there was more to her than her career. Never in a million years would he have thought the picture would become more than that.

With a groan, he powered off his phone and pulled the blankets over his head, promising himself he’d delete the picture the following afternoon. He was in for a long night.



Loren clutched her tote bag to her chest as the plane took off. Various members of the team were talking and laughing amongst themselves and she tried her best to pay attention to what they were saying. When she’d arrived on the tarmac they greeted her warmly; Scott Hartnell had even taken her bags and stowed them away for her. She knew she’d overreacted about the guys and the flight to Ottawa but she would’ve rather been pleasantly surprised by their camaraderie than think she had five friends only to find out they wanted nothing to do with her.

“Want anything to drink?” Scott asked as he moved to get up.

“Whatever you get is fine with me.”

A few minutes later he was handing her a bottle of water. He returned to his seat—in between Kimmo Timonen and Matt Read and directly across from her—and immediately struck up conversation.

“So, Loren,” he started, a mischievous smirk on his face, “what brought you to the City of Brotherly Love?”

She froze, unsure if she should lie or tell the truth. “I used to work for a certain hockey superstar and it just didn’t work out, so when Mr. Holmgren offered me the open position it was kind of a no-brainer.”

Scott’s smirk slowly turned into a grin. “Didn’t know you were already acquainted with G.”

Claude Giroux turned his attention to Loren and Scott at the mention of his nickname. “What’d you say about me, Hartsy?”

“Loren was saying she used to work for some big name hockey player.”

That caught Timonen’s attention. “Oh yeah? Anyone we know?”

Loren couldn’t help the blush that crept up her neck. Sidney was still a sore subject and she knew the Flyers/Penguins rivalry like the back of her hand. Some part of her still felt obligated to protect him; surely the new batch of men she worked for wouldn’t have overwhelmingly kind things to say about him.

“I’m sure you know him quite well.”

“Not talking, eh?” Giroux asked, a smile also plastered onto his face.

Loren pretended to zip her lips shut. “My lips are sealed.”

“I’m sure Google would know,” Matt Read teased.

Loren shrugged as he pulled out his iPhone. They’d find out sooner or later, so them finding out didn’t really bother her. The only thing she was worried about was them somehow finding the article that had gotten her fired. She hoped to eventually become friendly with everyone that was part of the Flyers organization; the last thing she wanted was them thinking she was some sort of puck bunny.

“Are you serious?” Matt asked, a humored grin on his face. “Sidney Crosby? Really?”

“Oh god, not another one,” Timonen joked. “I’m beginning to think Pittsburgh’s sending over spies.”

“Not a spy,” Loren replied, “just unemployed.”

Her answer seemed to satisfy the guys and they soon found themselves indulged in other conversations. Hartnell and Timonen were telling the rookies about the year they spent playing in Europe during the lockout, which prompted another round of stories from Timonen about growing up and playing hockey in Finland. Matt and Sean Couturier were in stitches by the time Claude Giroux made his way to where Loren was sitting and took the seat next to her.

“That must’ve been hard, eh?”

“What?”

“Working for Crosby.”

Loren shrugged. “It wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be.”

Claude nodded. “Simmer gave me a concussion and I was out for four games. I can’t imagine being out for a year.” All Loren could bring herself to do was smile. “So, how do you like Philly so far?”

“It’s different. I like it, though.”

“Yeah, I had the same problem when I went there. The people are…more friendly…back home.”

Loren smirked. “How many accidents did you almost get in trying to drive around City Hall?”

Claude didn’t miss a beat. “I lost count after ten,” he grinned.

Loren immediately understood why every woman in Philadelphia fell asleep to thoughts of Claude Giroux without clothes on. He wasn’t conventionally sexy but goddammit if he didn’t use every muscle in his body to his advantage. And that smile. Loren was positive the Flyers had hired Claude simply as bait: tempt the interns and see if they’d indulge. He was certainly more than capable of making a good girl switch to the dark side, as she’d seen time and time again during her time in Pittsburgh. Only then it was a certain 6-foot-4 blue-eyed blond causing the ruckus.

But while her body immediately betrayed her, Loren’s mind wouldn’t let her see Claude in that light. Whether or not she’d ever admit it, she was still hopelessly hung up on Sidney. Too often she wondered what he was doing, how he was making it without her. She fought with herself daily not to text him and ask how he was, but Sidney Crosby was hard to ignore. If the sports broadcasters weren’t talking about him someone else was. She’d never fully escape him.

She made small talk with Claude until the plane touched down in Ottawa. He’d promised to show her around if he had free time, telling her about all the places only locals would know. Loren knew he was just trying to be friendly—he was probably the nicest guy Loren had ever met, other than Kris—but she couldn’t help but feel like taking a stroll around Ottawa with him was somehow betraying Sidney. It was a foolish idea. Sidney wasn’t even going to be there, yet she couldn’t help it.

Loren didn’t want to believe she’d fallen in love during her stint in Pittsburgh. She left knowing she’d done her job to the best of her ability and she had nothing to be ashamed of. However, she knew falling in love wasn’t something one could plan. It happened when you least expected it and usually at the worst possible time. Loren’s emotions had never really been as stable as she would’ve liked and, like love, always chose the worst time to surface. It was clear to her then that she’d been in love with Sidney for as long as she could remember. The thought alone made her sick.

She couldn’t be in love. Not now, and especially not with him.