Retrouvailles

“Look, man, if there’s anything I know, it’s women.”

Sidney snorted, prompting Jordan to pull a face. They were sitting in Sidney’s living room, having chosen to watch the All-Star draft instead of going out, and naturally Jordan had brought up Loren. At first Sidney figured it was a mistake—surely no one was aware that he knew where she was—but after a few prodding questions from the lanky blond, Sidney knew Loren hadn’t been brought up on accident.

“You don’t know anything about women.”

Jordan scoffed, twisting the cap off the bottle of beer in his hand. “And you do?”

“I never said I did, only that you didn’t.”

That was partly true. Jordan came to Pittsburgh already in a serious relationship with a girl from Thunder Bay. He respected that for a while until it got boring, which was when he decided sneaking around behind his girlfriend’s back was more fun than going home to her at night. If his girlfriend had any suspicion of what he was doing she made no show of it. Like a puppy too loyal to leave it’s owner’s side, she showed up to team events and smiled like she was on the arm of the greatest man in the room.

“And why don’t I know women?”

“Because you’re engaged to one that you’ve been cheating on since you got here.”

Jordan didn’t reply; he never did. He was fine with interrogating others about their love lives but absolutely refused to talk about his own. This was mostly out of guilt. His fiancee was everything he could’ve asked for: great personality, fit in perfectly with his family, didn’t mind him coming home at three or four in the morning. But being tied down had gotten old. The couple hadn’t lived together prior to him coming to Pittsburgh and he quickly realized that doing so brought out the worst in their relationship.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to break up with her. She’d been with him through nearly everything, including when he was just one of the Staal brothers back in Canada and no one knew him as Jordan. If he were the one to end their relationship he’d surely be crowned Asshole of the Year. His mother would kill him, too.

“Whatever,” he dismissed. “As I recall, we were talking about you and Loren, not my abomination of a love life.”

“Mine’s not much different.”

“Yeah right,” Jordan snorted.

Sidney glared. He wanted to tell Jordan to fuck off, that whatever was going on between him and Loren wasn’t any of his business, but he knew that’d only open another can of worms. There was only one way to get his teammates to quit ragging on him and that was to actually do something. He’d been sitting idle for six weeks, hoping she’d make the first move so he wouldn’t have to. She wouldn’t, that wasn’t the Loren he knew, and as much as it scared him, he knew that she’d become nothing than the one who got away if he waited much longer.

He took a deep breath and muted the television. Jordan gulped. He was either about to receive one of Sidney’s infamous lectures or something bad was on the horizon. Either way he had a feeling everything would fall back on him.

“Where did she go?”

“Who?” Sidney gave him a look. “Oh, you mean Loren…”

“Who else would I mean?”

Jordan laughed nervously. “Pretty sure she went to Ottawa.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Oh, you mean where did she go to work.”

“Yep.”

“She, uh, you know, went to—”

Sidney’s jaw clenched. “Jordan…”

“Why do I have to be the one to tell you?”

“Because you’re the one sitting next to me when I’m asking.”

“But that’s not fair!” Jordan argued. “A few days ago you said you didn’t want to know and all of a sudden—”

“Was it Anaheim?”

Jordan smirked. “You know, her and Bobby Ryan would make a great couple—”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Fine,” Jordan glared, “she went to Philly.”

Sidney did the math in his head and almost instantly his stomach sank to the floor. All this time Loren had only been 300 miles away—only a few hours’ driving time. He could’ve spent his time coming up with some grandeur scheme to sweep her off her feet instead of moping. That thought evaporated as quickly as it’d come. He was still much too self-conscious to do that, still too sure she’d laugh in his face as she slammed the door. A strong rivalry was already present between the two hockey clubs; now Sidney held a grudge of his own toward the city for stealing her away.

“Do you know anything else?”

Jordan shook his head. “Not much. I’m not exactly swimming in friends when it comes to the Flyers.”

“Well, what do you know?”

“You’d be better off hiring a private investigator. Or—brace yourself, this is a groundbreaking and radical idea—you could just fucking call her.”

“I told you, I already have.”

“Oh, right. She changed her number, blah blah—”

“Don’t mock me.”

“Fine,” Jordan said again, “but today is your lucky day, Sid the Kid, because someone I am friends with over in Philadelphia happened to have her new number.”

Sidney pulled a face. “Who?”

Jordan rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t think of it. Remember some douchebag named Max Talbot? Used to play for us? Single-handedly won us a Stanley Cup? Two goals in game seven? Pittsburgh’s Superstar? Yeah, that guy; had her number the whole time.”

On the television, Kris had just been selected by Team Alfredsson. Jordan hooped and hollered for his friend, laughing over him having to play against Geno. He didn’t say anything else about Max or Loren, just dug his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Sidney, giving him permission to go through it for Loren’s number. While the captain was relieved Jordan was still on his side, it all felt a bit too much like stalking. If Loren wanted him to have his number she would’ve given it to him, right?

“You’re not going to call her are you?” Jordan asked as his phone was thrust back in his direction.

“She’s going to think I’m stalking her.”

“You having her number is going to be the least of her problems now that you know where she is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your hopeless ass is finally going to do something about this. Your woe is me bullshit is starting to give me a headache—All right, Nealer!”

James Neal had also been named to Team Alfredsson, something Jordan found questionably amusing. Sid wondered if Loren was sitting in the crowd, rolling her eyes at Alyonka Larionov for being the stereotypical arm-candy for someone in the NHL—the type of girl she’d warned him countless times to stay away from.

“If anyone finds out about some random puck slut in your bed and leaks it, I’m not defending you.”

She’d told him that the first day they met and he’d never forgotten it. They’d worked together ten months and not once did a woman fall between his sheets, random or not random. That wasn’t to say things had been different before Loren came around, but from the moment he met her he knew she wasn’t the type of woman he should test. For all he knew, if someone did find out about him sleeping around, she’d hang his dirty laundry on the clothesline and let the press have a field day.

She should’ve been working for Jordan, not him. His girlfriend would’ve appreciated it.



Loren stifled a yawn. She must’ve been sitting there for hours, desperately trying to pay attention to the draft. The first few selections had been all right—completely expected but the NHL was clearly trying their best to make something so boring seem entertaining. She didn’t even call Alyonka mean names in her head. For all Loren knew, she was a nice girl.

She’d spotted Kris and Geno immediately—the former because of his hair and the latter because Geno couldn’t really be mistaken for anyone else. Her stomach immediately started doing front flips and she was sure she’d have to make countless bathroom breaks just to keep her composure. As oblivious and naive as she wanted to be, she wasn’t, and she knew this was the one place she couldn’t pretend not to be. The league had sent out an e-mail to every attending player, for Christ’s sake. Her name and contact information were in it.

“You look bored.”

“That’s because I am.”

The person sitting next to her laughed. It was pleasant, albeit a bit too friendly. She didn’t know his name and made no attempt to find it out but the two had made small talk throughout the night.

“Who’re you here with?”

“Philly.”

“Nice,” he replied, genuinely seeming impressed.

“What about you?” Loren asked, even though she could’ve cared less about the answer.

“New York. Islanders. Tavares specifically.”

Loren had worked within the Eastern Conference long enough to justify her cringe. The Islanders hadn’t been anything to brag about for years; she’d been lucky enough to work with two of the top teams in the Atlantic division.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

The man laughed quietly. “Alan.”

“Which one’s that?” Loren asked, looking around the stage for someone she didn’t recognize.

“I am. My name’s Alan.”

Loren’s cheeks burned bright red in embarrassment. “Right, of course. Townsend, right?” Alan nodded. “I remember you from the e-mail.”

“And you’re Loren Hamilton. I remember you as well, though I must admit it’s due more in part to your work in Pittsburgh.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You used to work with Crosby, right?” She nodded. “You were kind of the most hated PR person in hockey. Everyone wanted that job. We all applied for it, only to get beat by some kid fresh out of college.”

Most people would’ve taken offense to Alan’s choice of words, but Loren only smirked. As she’d told Sidney countless times before, she worked hard to get where she was.

“Sorry to break your heart.”

“Water under the bridge,” Alan replied easily. “So you’re with the Flyers now, huh? Pittsburgh calling for your head yet?”

“They’ve always called for my head.”

Alan nodded as he raised his glass of champagne to take a sip. “I’m sure you don’t work for the biggest star in hockey without making a few enemies along the way.”

Loren shrugged, keeping her eyes glued to the stage. Her biggest enemies had once been her closest friends; one of them was sitting only a few feet in front of her. Kris hadn’t once looked into the crowd, Loren noted, and she knew she was the reason why. Not only was she unhappy to be there, Kris was unhappy she was there too. Geno would surely greet her affectionately and James hadn’t known her that well so he’d be civil, but Kris probably wouldn’t bother to acknowledge her existence. She wanted to be fine with that—she’d been trying to erase Pittsburgh from her memory for six weeks—but she knew she couldn’t leave Ottawa without making amends.

With a heavy sigh, she flagged the waitress and grabbed as many flutes of champagne as she could hold and downed them all.



Loren was thoroughly buzzed by the time she was en route back to her hotel. She’d met up with the Flyers’ all-stars after the draft wrapped up and congratulated each of them, sparing a joke at Timonen’s expense about being the only one on Team Chara. Everyone was too tired to do dinner so they bid one another goodnight. Claude Giroux offered to walk her to her room but she declined. Loren had never been the classiest drunk and she didn’t want to make an ass of herself just yet.

She’d finally reached her room when the door of the room next to her’s opened, revealing a freshly-showered and neatly dressed Evgeni Malkin. Loren held her breath and tried to get the key card through the slot as quickly as possible but she was far more drunk than Geno (who wasn’t drunk at all) and he spotted her right away.

“Loren?”

Though she was drunk, Loren wasn’t so drunk she became stupid, and she plastered a shocked expression on her face and spun around quickly. “Geno? Oh my god!” she squealed, running into his open embrace.

“Why you here?”

Loren pulled away and looked up at the Russian. “New job.”

“Oh,” he replied. “Want go out with me?”

“Where were you headed?”

“Dinner. Very hungry.”

Loren sighed. “Meeting up with anyone?”

“Neal. You know?”

“No,” Loren answered. “Not very well, at least.”

“Good, you become friends at dinner.”

Loren smiled. Geno always had a way of making her do that, even if she was in the worst of moods. There was something endearing about his broken English and crooked smile and she couldn’t bring herself to turn down his offer.

“Fair enough,” she said as she linked arms with him. “Where to, Mr. Malkin?”

“Dinner,” he replied.

“I meant which restaurant.”

“Don’t know. Meeting Neal. He choose.”

She shrugged as they shuffled into the elevator. Loren was surprised he hadn’t asked where she’d relocated to. Maybe he didn’t care; maybe he thought it wasn’t any of his business. A small part of her wanted him to ask because whatever went in Geno’s ear went straight through Sidney’s, but she figured it was too blunt to outwardly tell him she was now working for the Flyers.

“If you’re ever in town you should let me know. There are some great places to eat there.”

Geno smiled down at her. “Okay.”

What the hell, she thought to herself.

“Excited to be here?”

“Yes, gonna score lots goals. Girls love.”

Loren laughed as the elevator chimed, dropping them off on the ground floor. She followed him out of the hotel, thankful there weren’t any reporters lurking around waiting for an interview. The frigid air immediately sucked the breath from her lungs; Geno noticed and wrapped a large arm around her. Despite the depressingly low temperature, Loren had all but fallen in love with Ottawa. The city had a certain charm to it that she’d never experienced before. Maybe it was Canada in general. Everyone seemed much nicer and so much more enthusiastic about hockey as a sport as opposed to enthusiastic about who was wearing their favorite team’s jersey.

“Geno!” Both him and Loren stopped dead in their tracks and turned around. James Neal was waving at them from the doorway of a tiny restaurant. When he noticed Loren, his eyebrows raised. “You brought company.”

“This Loren. Used to work for Sid.”

“I think I remember you. Either way it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled. “Again.”

Loren shook his outstretched hand and followed him inside. She wasn’t sure what type cuisine the restaurant served, only hoped James wouldn’t try to force-feed her poutine. She recognized a few players seated at tables with teammates or family members and hoped they wouldn’t recognize her back, especially while drunk. She’d done a good job at hiding it so far but wasn’t sure how long she’d make it before she said or did something incredibly stupid.

“I brought a friend of my own. Hope you don’t mind,” James said as the trio arrived at the table he’d reserved.

Kris’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull once Loren’s frame came into view. She looked so tiny wrapped under Geno’s arm that he almost hadn’t recognized her. Once those aquamarine eyes locked on him there was no denying who it was—he’d know those eyes anywhere.

“Loren,” he acknowledged.

The lighting in the restaurant was minimal. It was probably for mood but Loren didn’t care; it prevented Kris from noticing the way her face paled at the sound of his voice. If she thought it was going to be awkward having dinner with James, whom she barely knew, and Geno, who instantly made her feel guilty for leaving, having dinner with Kris was going to be insurmountably worse.

Still, she wasn’t going to leave, so she took the seat in between James and Geno and hid behind the large menu. James had made a passing comment about the waitress not having come around yet; she planned to take as much time as possible to order.

“So, Loren,” James started, clearly oblivious to the tension that’d settled, “what’re you doing here?”

She knew he was asking about the All-Star game, but she answered as if he was talking about being at the restaurant. “I honestly have no idea.”

“I guess it would’ve been better to ask who you’re here with—”

“Leave her alone,” Geno scolded. “Too many questions.”

James chuckled. “I’m just trying to get to know her.”

“Not at dinner. Dinner for eating.”

“It’s okay, Geno. He’s just trying to be nice,” Loren said. She turned her attention back to James, finally lowering the menu that’d been blocking her face. “I’m here with—or for, however you want to spin it—the Flyers.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I guess I’m here in case a PR nightmare occurs; I don’t really know.”

“You be at game?” Geno asked.

She nodded. “In the press box with all the other personnel outcasts.”

James went to reply when the waitress finally showed up to take drink orders. The three Penguins ordered beers and water; Loren nearly ordered the entire right side of the drink menu. She eventually settled on a vodka tonic, hold the lemon, and a glass of the restaurant’s finest Cabernet Sauvignon. James eyed her questioningly but she ignored him. There was no way she was going to get through dinner without those drinks in her system.



If Loren had been drunk before she agreed to go to dinner with Geno, she was plastered by the time it was over. It hadn’t been as excruciatingly painful as she thought it would be but it was awkward enough to make her regret coming. The guys had mostly talked amongst themselves, teasing Geno for being the only one of them on Team Chara and taking bets for which team would win. Loren stayed out of that conversation; she was far too drunk to be responsible with her money.

The foursome finally wrapped up their meals and called for the check around midnight. Loren was dead tired and had spaced out sometime after eleven-thirty, only concerned with her portion of the bill and getting back to her hotel room (and bed) as quickly as possible.

Kris hadn’t spoken a word to her all night. He’d eyed her a few times but never anything more. Loren had never felt like such garbage in her entire life. All she wanted to do was apologize, to clear the air between them, but now she wasn’t sure he’d accept any sort of apology she tried to give. However, Kris seemed to sense they urgently needed to talk.

“Loren, let me walk you back to your hotel,” It wasn’t a question.

“That’d be gr—”

“No,” Geno cut in, “we next to each other. I walk her.”

Loren deflated. There was no sense in arguing; Geno was right. Turning him down would be too obvious and lead to questions she didn’t need anyone asking.

“We, should, uh—we can get dinner tomorrow i-if you’d like.”

Kris nodded and put his suit coat on. “I’ll text you or something.”

All Loren could bring herself to do was offer him a weak smile and follow Geno out of the restaurant. Had she been thinking, she would’ve remembered she’d changed her phone number and that he didn’t have the new one. There was no way for him to text her or something.

As soon as she was pressed against the cool sheets of her bed, her phone vibrated on the nightstand next to her. Maybe Kris wasn’t as ill-equipped as she’d thought.