Somehow Became a Hockey Blog

Valorie hadn’t intended to be late and it meant that she was immediately the centre of attention when she walked into the café. She spotted the table of her friends that was discretely to the side and out of the way, though that discretion flew out the window when Amber and Valorie squealed as they saw each other.

They rushed to close the distance, throwing their arms around one another in a hug that only remained upright because Mike was standing close enough by to keep them that way. Valorie, after pulling away from Amber, greeted Mike with a more subdued but no less friendly hug.

Neither Mike nor Amber were who she’d noticed first, though, because the third person at the table was Nathan MacKinnon and he was a man who was impossible to miss.

Despite how much she wanted to step forward and greet him in the exact same way, Valorie wasn’t sure where the boundaries were, so she opted for saying, “I would have thought you’d be far too good to hang out with us lowly commoners.”

Nate smirked, looking as if he’d been expecting it, but it wasn’t him who spoke next.

“We haven’t seen you half as much as him in the last seven years,” Mike said, thumping his hand across Nate’s broad chest. Valorie was momentarily distracted by just how broad it was; those years had been very good to him.

Mike continued, “Dogg knows where he came from.”

“Yes, yes, I’m the worst,” Valorie said with an eyeroll as she pushed everyone back to their seats. Nate paused for long enough that Valorie greeted him with a hug and a lingering kiss on his cheek.

Valorie sat opposite Nate, tucking her legs underneath her own chair to avoid accidentally entangling them with his—the length of his was a memory firmly engrained in her mind.

Immediately it became clear that the conversation was not going to trend towards the Cup like she’d been hoping. It was far and away the most exciting thing she could think of for any of them to talk about, but she supposed that everyone had had the same thought since Nate arrived back in Nova Scotia.

Instead, Amber lifted Valorie’s wrist to get a closer inspection of the bracelet she was wearing and the boys leant in, too.

“Got to keep the jewellery, I see,” Amber said, her voice slightly awed. Valorie couldn’t blame her.

“Everything but the car,” Valorie said. “It would have been useless up here anyway. Definitely not meant for winter tyres.”

“You should have kept it and flipped it,” Mike said, tapping against the table in thought. “An Audi, wasn’t it?”

“Porsche.”

Mike whistled low and impressed, Nate’s eyebrow twitched—Valorie almost missed it—and he leaned back in his seat. Valorie could only imagine what cars Nate was driving around Colorado or Nova Scotia. As nice as her Porsche was, she was sure it paled in comparison.

Valorie pulled back her hand, hiding it away under the table to stop Amber playing with it any longer.

“You still wear what he bought you?” Nate asked, his voice curiously tight as his eyes flicked between her face and where the bracelet was hidden under the table.

Valorie thought for a moment, cataloguing everything she had put on that morning. “I think everything I’m wearing was a gift from him. It wasn’t a bad break up; no bad memories associated with any of it.”

Until that moment, Valorie had been perfectly comfortable with the idea of it—her entire wardrobe had been bought by her ex so she didn’t have much choice anyway, but under Nate’s careful gaze every inch of fabric felt suffocatingly heavy.

“Why did you break up?” Amber asked. “It sounds perfect.”

“I wanted to come home,” Valorie answered simply, one shoulder rising in a shrug as she tried to casually avoid eye contact with her friends.

“He had enough money; you could have come home whenever you wanted.”

“What? You think I’ve been back, like, twice in seven years because that’s what I wanted?” Valorie asked, somewhat viciously, directing her words and the accompanying glare at Mike. “There was always someone to meet, something to do, somewhere to be and I couldn’t ever get away. I missed home.”

Mike, rightfully chastened, lowered himself down in his chair just enough to let Valorie know he regretted what he’d said. Nate and Amber were sitting in an awkward silence and Valorie had to speak just to move them along.

She continued, “And I was bored as hell. I was asked if I’d be interested in the Real Housewives of Miami reboot and if I stayed much longer I would have said yes just to have something to do.”

Amber’s laugh was raucous, eliciting the same from Valorie, and she said, “You’re too young to be on that show.”

“That’s most of the reason I said no!” Valorie shrieked, still laughing. “That and I was actually a housewife? The other women on that show have, like, careers and are important and aren’t just sitting at home complaining about doing yoga.”

“I’d watch a show that was you doing yoga.”

Three heads turned to Nate, all barking out surprised laughs at his deadpan voice accompanied by the casual expression that remained on his face—almost as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

Mike thumped Nate across the chest, as he’d done earlier, and said, “We all know you would, Nate.”

“That’s really it, though?” Nate pressed on, not even looking at Mike as he thumped him back, “You couldn’t come up with a schedule where you got to come home more?”

“It wasn’t going to work,” Valorie said firmly. Nate tilted his head but was kind enough to not press her any further.

Despite all the talk of Valorie living a lavish lifestyle, when it came to ordering food she was conservative with her money. She didn’t have a choice when that money was coming out of her own, not very large bank account. It didn’t matter in the end, because Nate quickly took over and promised that he’d pay after ordering a ludicrous amount of food all the while flicking his gaze to Valorie every few seconds.

After they’d finished eating—having spent so long that it was clear they were only being allowed to stay because they were with Nate—Mike and Amber hurried off before they were late to see Amber’s parents, leaving Nate and Valorie on the sidewalk out the front.

“Where are you living?” Nate asked, his keys twirling in his hands. “Do you want a ride?”

Valorie nodded, surprised but please, “Oh, yeah, thank you. I’m staying with my parents. They haven’t moved.”

He didn’t say anything as he started moving towards the parking lot behind the café. It hadn’t changed much since they were 16, slowly walking back to Nate’s second-hand truck after a date neither of them really wanted to end.

“You’re back with your parents?”

“I haven’t had a job in seven years, nobody will hire me, and nobody will let me lease a house without pay cheques so…”

“That’s rough.”

“It’s fine,” she insisted. Nate’s face screwed up, so she added, “I still get on with my parents so it’s really fine.”

The Porsche Cayenne he led her to wasn’t so much a surprise, given the dealership that would have jumped at the chance to have one of their vehicles driven by Stanley Cup Champion Nathan MacKinnon—it was, however, a reminder of the 911 she’d left behind in Miami.

Of everything she’d left behind in Miami.

They were sitting in the Cayenne out the front of Valorie’s parents’ house, her hand on the door handle, when Nate said, “I’ve got room at my place if you want it.”

“That’s really sweet of you, Nate,” she smiled back at him, appreciative, “but I don’t have any money to pay rent.”

Valorie opened the door and looked back into the car when she was standing upright, to thank Nate for dropping her off.

“I don’t need rent from you.”

“Nate.”

“Just say the word, Val.”

Moving into one of Nate’s spare bedrooms was easier than Valorie had anticipated; Nate picked her up a few days after he dropped her at her parents’ home in Crichton Park, loaded some bags into the trunk and unloaded them into a bedroom with a lake front view in Grand Lake.

He’d declared that everything in the house was hers if she wanted it and raised a challenging eyebrow when she walked into the wine room and declared that she’d start with the most expensive bottle and work her way down—she knew exactly which one it was, too, even with a cursory glance at the bottles lining the walls.

“It’s probably not as nice where you lived in Miami,” Nate said as he finished the tour.

Valorie laughed, “The lovely Mediterranean Revival home that he gutted and turned into a Hypermodern nightmare so the inside and the outside clashed? The one that didn’t even have a view of the beach? I’ll miss a lot of things about Miami but that house is not one of them.”

“I didn’t know you cared about that stuff.”

“Architecture?” she clarified, waiting for Nate’s slow nod before she shrugged. “I had a lot of time to kill.”

Valorie spent most of that first day on the deck overlooking Grand Lake, it wasn’t quite warm enough for her to venture into the pool, but it was perfect to just sit and watch the water and the occasional jet-skier zip past.

Nate left her to her own devices for what might have been a few hours before he joined her and started asking questions about what she’d like for dinner so that he could head to the store.

“You gonna cook for me, Dogg?” Valorie asked, tilting her head over the back of the chair so that she could see Nate properly. “What if I want risotto?”

There was a brief moment where it looked like Nate’s brain short-circuited before he collected himself and said, “I can offer you steak or chicken breast. Salad or vegetables.”

“So many options,” Valorie said, a small laugh in her voice, as she pushed herself off the chair. “If you cook the steak, I’ll make the salad.”

“Sorry, there aren’t more options.”

“Two more than I’d be able to offer.”

The admission didn’t seem to surprise Nate, who just accepted what Valorie had said without question—Mike and Amber had surely passed on a few things about Valorie’s time in Miami and the chef she had was one of their favourite thing to bring up.

Valorie used Nate going to the store as an opportunity to wander through the house. It wasn’t as large as she was expecting, so it didn’t take very long at all—especially not when she avoided Nate’s bedroom out of respect for his privacy. She opened every cupboard in the kitchen, just to make sure she knew where everything was kept, and then unloaded the dishwasher when it beeped at her incessantly. In the fridge was an open bottle of sparkling red wine, so Valorie helped herself to a glass on the balcony while she waited for Nate to return.

The calmness of Nova Scotia was something Valorie had forgotten she’d missed until she was back; even in the height of summer, with the excitement of the Cup coming back, she was more relaxed than she’d ever been in Miami.

When Nate returned Valorie greeted him with a big smile as she raised the wine she’d poured herself—her second of the afternoon—and he returned it without hesitation.

She continued to drink as they made dinner, her easy and boring salad taking no time at all, and Nate cracked a beer while he grilled and then opened a new bottle of wine for them as they ate on the balcony overlooking the lake as the sun slowly began to set.

Despite the view she had—she’d been staring at it all day, after all—Valorie couldn’t help but watch Nate as he ate, mostly scrutinising the lines of his face that were so much different to what she once knew.

“You keep looking at me like you don’t believe I exist,” Nate said. Valorie didn’t even flinch; another two glasses of wine making her particularly carefree.

“I don’t know if I do,” she admitted, sighing as she realised that even his voice had changed. “I’ve seen you on the TV and in photos and everything but for the past seven years the image of you in my head has always been you the last summer I saw you. You were a kid and now you’re a man and I really don’t know how to deal with that.”

“Yeah,” Nate agreed, his voice a lot softer and more serious than it had been. “I know. I get it.”

Amber and Mike came over to spend time on the lake not too long into Valorie’s time with Nate. It was a perfect day, which Valorie had come to expect, and being out on the Sea Doos was the perfect way to spend it.

It was nice to have company.

Nate had taken to visiting his parents’ house if he was going to see them. He always offered for Valorie to join him, but that felt like it was encroaching on boundaries she wasn’t even sure they’d set. She’d tried, though, to get him to invite them over only to be met with a shake of the head—maybe he was worried about different boundaries being breached. Valorie didn’t know.

Amber and Mike were good company, at least. Valorie was always happy that Amber had stuck by her even when she wasn’t around. Mike… Mike she could take or leave depending on the day.

“Why’d you really leave what’s-his-face?” Mike asked, apropos of nothing and a few beers deep.

Amber glared at him, though it went unnoticed. Nate sat up a little straighter and Valorie couldn’t work out if it was Mike-related or Nick-related.

“I already told you,” Valorie said, forcing a polite twinge into her voice even if she was dreading whatever might come next.

“Yeah, but there’s gotta be more to it,” Mike argued.

“Why?”

“I love this place, but if Amber wanted to move to, I don’t know, LA and never come back I’d do it in a heartbeat. And with the money you had? Easiest decision I’ll ever make.”

“He doesn’t want kids,” she relented, though it was not without steeliness as she tried to put a definitive end to the topic. “No amount of money was worth not being a mom.”

“That’s some serious self-control,” Mike said, shaking his head almost as if he was in awe. “I can think of a lot of things I’d give up for the life you were living.”

“It’s all Valorie ever wanted,” Nate said, his voice deep and low. “She was born to be a mom.”

Valorie’s gaze moved slowly to Nate as she replayed the words in her mind. He hadn’t moved from how he’d been sitting at the start of the conversation, hadn’t even looked away from Mike. She wanted him to look at her, to make eye contact to be able to get a read on him; to see if the skip it caused in her heartbeat was for an actual reason.

“It took you seven years with this guy to work out you were on a different page?” Mike asked incredulously, earning a half-hearted shrug from Valorie who looked back to him with hesitation.

“He said he was undecided. I loved him, you know? I was willing to wait it out in the hopes that kids would be on the table.”

Mike then agreed, “I’d wait seven years if I spent the entire time being a trophy wife.”

“It wasn’t about all the material possessions,” she snapped. “I know that’s what it looked like, but I’m upset you all think I’m a gold digger.”

“If the Louboutins fit,” Mike said with an eyebrow waggle.

“We know you aren’t a gold digger,” Amber said, finally, and firmly, contributing to the conversation, “or you wouldn’t have come back.”

Mike leaned back in his chair, pointed up at Nate’s house watching over them and said, rather loudly, “Right into Nate’s sweet digs.”

His loudness was met with silence, thick and tense, and the three people that stared at him didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“Do you even like me, Mike?” Valorie asked, tired.

“Come on, Val. I’m just joking around.” He added, after a hearty hunk across the back of the head courtesy of Nate, “I’ll cool it.”

The weather had turned quite quickly and quite dramatically—what had been the perfect weather the week prior had turned so miserable that Valorie was looking out the floor to ceiling windows as if her death stare could part the black clouds.

Nate was somewhere on the island doing something hockey related that he’d told Valorie about the night before while she was half asleep on the couch, so she was, once again, left in the house to her own devices.

A second car had appeared in the garage a couple of days after her arrival and Nate had assured her that she could drive it whenever she needed; Valorie was going to avoid driving it as long as she could.

The wine room was taking more of a hit than Valorie had expected when she’d joked with Nate about drinking it all; she had very few places to go, and her mother was more than happy to drive to Grand Lake to pick her up if there were family plans so she rarely had to drive, so the day drinking was getting more out of hand than she wanted to admit. It was a similar problem to Miami, she was realising, but Nate’s house wasn’t filled with quite so many time-wasting objects and there was only so much baking she could do when Nate rarely had any visitors.

Her response to the door opening had become Pavlovian, especially since being confined inside by the rain. Valorie was on her feet, pretending to walk to the kitchen to refill her glass of red, so that she’d be able to start a conversation with Nate when he walked in.

Only, it wasn’t Nate.

“Uh… Sidney. Hi. Nate’s not here. I’m Valorie—Val,” she said, all in a rush, putting her glass on the counter and desperately hoping she didn’t have red teeth.

“Nice to see you again, Val,” Sidney said, polite and friendly. “Nate told me to let myself in; he’ll be back soon.”

The shock and awe Valorie felt being around Sidney—Sid—had disappeared after exactly one summer of learning that he was nowhere near as cool as she had built him up to be. That being said, she had not expected him to remember her for a second.

“Do you want some cookies?” she asked, quickly, noticing that Sid was hovering uncertainly. “I made way too many.”

Sid smiled, nodded, and sat down at one of the bar stools on the other side of the counter while Valorie plated up an assortment of ginger snaps, Florentines, sugar cookies and Afghan biscuits all while trying not to let the wine she’d been drinking rattle her.

“Killing the boredom of being stuck inside all day?” Sid asked, drawing the plate towards him and inspecting his choices as if she was going to stop him at one.

“It’s what I do and what I’ve done for years now.” Valorie shrugged. “I drink and I bake.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I say that sounds… underwhelming.”

“Oh, no!” Valorie gasped instantly. “I mean, I got really into yoga and reading, too. I wasn’t just some boozy housewife. I love to bake, though. I could do it all day. Wine?”

Sid agreed to a glass, and Valorie pretended that she didn’t know he was doing it so she wouldn’t be drinking alone.

“Are you happy to be back here? Back home?” Sid asked around a not-yet-finished mouthful of ginger snap. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

It was, to say the least, unnerving to have Sidney Crosby—anybody, really—sitting across from her and calling her out for being gone. They weren’t friends, like Amber and Mike, or whatever else, like Nate, and she couldn’t wrap her head around why he would care to bring it up.

She took a healthy sip of her wine, savouring the taste for longer than was strictly necessary and said, “I was always trying to get back. It just never… It was hard to get away. I’m glad to be back.”

“I’m sure the island is happy to have you back,” he said, removing the unease in Valorie’s stomach flawlessly as he looked out over the deck to the lake. “Sorry the weather didn’t hold up for you.”

“It was nice for a while,” she conceded, following Sid’s eyes, “and at least it’s the same all day. I was really not impressed by Miami deciding there was a torrential downpour every afternoon after the perfect morning. Seven years there and I never got used to it.”

Valorie moved their conversation to the couch, carrying the wine with her while Sid carried the cookies he was slowly making his way through. She let Sid talk about his off-season plans, to what he’d already done since returning to Nova Scotia, noting that he was absolutely downplaying the vacation he and Kathy had taken and skipping over the extraordinarily nice or expensive parts. She loved Antigua, knew it inside and out, but was happy to let Sid tell her what he thought was appropriate—he may have been happy to ask her why she’d been gone so long but it was clear not much more information than that had made it his way.

By the time Nate was home—his definition of ‘soon’ stretching Valorie’s just a little—she was desperate to just be anywhere that wasn’t near anyone, not just Sid and the way he knew too much yet absolutely nothing. She excused herself within moments to use the bathroom, heading downstairs to her ensuite.

On her way down the staircase, she heard, the beginning of their conversation:

“Val was just filling me in on her time in Miami.”

“She really enjoyed it, right? It sounds great.”

“That’s… one way to put it.”

Walking through Halifax with Nate by her side was an experience. He’d mentioned it in passing, that people were more interested in him than normal, but Valorie hadn’t taken it to mean it was quite so relentless.

Kids wanted their jerseys autographed, everyone wanted a photo and every other person wanted to stand there on the street with Nate and listen to him recount his entire career from Bantam to what training he’d been doing since he got back to Nova Scotia.

Their trip into Halifax had been for no reason other than the sudden realisation by Nate that Valorie hadn’t left the house in an alarming amount of time outside of her new part-time job at one of the local hobby stores, so it wasn’t like the constant stopping was preventing them from doing anything in particular.

It was, however, resulting in Valorie entering a lot of stores that she otherwise had no intention of going into just so that people could gush over Nate. And at least one purchase of a dress she didn’t need.

One person who stopped them was a classmate from high school who stopped them to question Valorie about her disappearance just as much as she stopped to gush over Nate. Valorie didn’t even remember her name and the woman hadn’t taken the time to introduce herself.

“It’s so cute that you’re back for Nate, though,” she said. “I always knew you guys would end up in the same place.”

“Well, that place is home for us, so.”

“Oh, I know, but I heard all about you in Miami and obviously Nate’s making magic in Denver so it’s just nice to see you two in the same place again.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Nate said, nodding even as he was subtly moving out of her way and directing Valorie in the same direction. “We’ve gotta head off, though. It was great to see you again.”

“Of course, sorry! You must be so busy! We should definitely catch up!”

There was more nodding and agreeing as they walked past her, Valorie checking back over her shoulder quickly in one last attempt to help her remember?”

“What was her name?” she asked Nate when they were well out of earshot.

Nate admitted easily, his face lighting up with a guilty smile, “No fucking idea.”

Valorie walked into him as she laughed, unable to control herself as it erupted from her mouth. Nate laughed, too, the guilt shifting from his face and they were holding each other up on the sidewalk as they struggled to breath.

The laughter continued, albeit subdued, as they made their way to the one thing they’d agreed upon getting: ice cream. It was an otherwise peaceful work, seemingly already having run into everyone who wanted a few minutes of Nate’s time.

Being out in public with Nate was different to being alone with him at home, Valorie noticed, and it was different to how they’d been as teenagers. He always carried himself with a confidence that was beyond him in years, almost a quiet arrogance as he always knew where he was going to end up—Valorie would have given anything to know when the arrogance disappeared. Was it because of the Cup win? His accomplishment proof enough that he was everything he ever said he was going to be. Was it seasons earlier when it didn’t look as clear?  

At the ice cream shop, Nate ordered Butterscotch ripple and then laughed under his breath as Valorie ordered Maple Walnut.

“Why is that funny?”

“You’re so Canadian.”

Noting the children around, Valorie glared at him, mouthing ‘fuck you’ before she continued out loud, “I’m going to enjoy all the maple flavoured things. You can’t stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I will laugh at you, though.”

They sat on a table out the front, Nate saying hello to a few starstruck kids as they did so.

“What are you staring at?” Valorie asked, her cheeks warming up under Nate’s watchful eye.

“Just wanted to see if you were still a psycho who bites their ice cream.”

Valorie made direct eye contact with him and bit into the top of her ice cream, causing Nate to shudder dramatically.

Halifax was bustling in a way that Valorie had never seen. The decision to not have the parade in Cole Harbor was purposeful, a clear differentiation from Sid’s parades and a nice thank you to Halifax for his time with the Mooseheads.

She made her way through the crowd unimpeded, even as she headed towards the rooftop she’d been told to head to near the end of the parade route, overlooking City Hall.

Nate had let Valorie know that it was where Sid would be, hidden out of sight—a decision he’d made himself. He hadn’t even relented when Nate, drunkenly, begged him to be beside him; Valorie was grateful that Sid had the awareness to decline.

Sid was already at the rooftop with Kathy, set up with a table, chairs and some food and drink to get them through the parade and the speech Nate was going to give after.

“I hope it’s okay that I’m here,” Valorie said sheepishly, unsure if Nate had told them she’d be there. “This is where they sent me.”

“More than okay.” Sid pulled up a chair from the group of them nearby. “You didn’t want to be down there with him?”

Valorie stepped to the edge of the roof, taking in the swathes of people lined along the streets. Sid and Kathy were both watching her curiously as she turned back to them and took a seat, putting Sid in the middle.

“It wouldn’t feel right. Nate and I aren’t anything, you know.”

“That’s not true, though, is it?” Sid asked. “Or you’d be in the crowd, not up here.”

Valorie froze in her seat, only her eyes moving to follow Sid’s hand as it disappeared beside him and came back with a cooler bag that he pulled wine from.

“Do you moonlight as a shrink?”

“For Nate, yeah, I feel like I do.” He carried on, no beats missed, “I don’t have red, will white do?”

It played in her mind as she drank her wine and ate from the platter that had been set up. Nate hadn’t offered for her to be by his side—she would have turned it down immediately even if he had—and when he’d suggested she sit with Sid it felt, to her, that was the next best thing.

She wasn’t overly talkative during the wait, choosing to just stare out over the edge of the roof at the other side of the street and the people who were in nearly chaotically good spirits. She was hearing vague parts of the conversations Sid and Kathy were having, and answering questions when asked, but for the most part she was lost in the magic of the Stanley Cup being back in Nova Scotia.

Valorie had been in Cole Harbour for Sid’s 2009 Cup Parade as a small and spindly 13-year-old, watching the Cup from a distance.

That morning she’d been able to run her fingers across the engraved names.

“Is it the happiest you’ve ever been?” Valorie asked, not even bothering to quieten her voice so that Kathy wouldn’t hear. “He doesn’t talk about it as much as I thought he would.”

Sid shifted his entire body to face her and Valorie immediately felt like she was about to get a talking to; she forced herself not to shrink.

“If you want him to talk about it you have to let him know he can. I promise you he won’t shut up about it.”

“Oh. Does he think I don’t care? That’s not true,” she said, worried. “I don’t want him to think I don’t care.”

The timing was on point for the parade to enter their vision, no longer just the distant sound of the band. Even as Valorie continued to think about the possibility that Nate didn’t know how much she cared about what he’d achieved, she couldn’t help but be delighted by the sight of Gabe and Cogs very, very drunk in the first carriage that came through.

When Nate came clearly into view, the Cup held high above his head, Valorie felt her heart swell and tears prick the corners of her eyes.

“It is,” Sid said, barely audible over the band and the crowd. “The happiest I’ve ever been.”

Nate had a million things planned for the rest of his day; had a lot of people to introduce the Cup to. Long after he had disappeared from the parade and after the streets of Halifax started to clear, Valorie remained on the roof with Sid and Kathy, swapping stories until their skin was turning pink.

The fact that Sid remembered her, let alone willing to talk with her like an old friend, was still very much blowing Valorie’s mind but it wasn’t something she was going to draw attention to lest it ruin the chill vibe they’d settled into.

They walked to the bar where the party would really kick off, Sid easily blending into the small crowds still milling around Halifax—the occasional person shouting at him, at everyone near them, at the wind. The excitement felt like it was never going to leave.

Waiting for Nate felt like an age, somehow felt even longer than all seven years Valorie had been away. Maybe it was sitting beside an already very drunk Mike, or maybe it was the intense anticipation coursing through her because she knew that Nate could walk through the doors with the Stanley Cup at any moment.

Maybe it was that she was pulled into a conversation with Gabe Landeskog who looked only marginally more sober than he had in the carriage; the beers he was double fisting were sure to fix that.

“Long time no see, Valorie,” he said, his tone giving no indication whether that was good or bad. “All the way back at Nate’s first game, right?”

Valorie was hesitant to respond, and opted for an honest, “That was the only one I got to, yes.”

“He missed you a lot that year.” Gabe paused to drink from one of his beers and Valorie waited for the rest of the thought. “The year after, too, but different.”

“I missed him, too,” Valorie admitted readily; that wasn’t something she’d ever been shy about.

Gabe nodded at her, then raised his chin to say hello to someone who had just walked into the room—it wasn’t Nate, Val checked—and then put his beers down on the table between them so that he could collapse into the empty seat.

“It’s good you’re back together. He’s really happy about it.”

“We’re not—he’s happy because he’s done the one thing you guys aim to do. He’s beaten the final boss. The Elite Four were no match for you guys.”

“No, no, sure he’s happy about that.” Gabe insisted, “It’s a different happy now. A more complete happy.”

“I don’t think you’re making any sense. You should go drink some water.”

Gabe protested, downing one of the beers in a matter of seconds as if that would prove he didn’t need water. Her lip quirked up at the action, both from amusement and bemusement.

Nate finally walked in, well after everyone else was a few drinks in and getting rowdy. His arrival increased the already loud bar enough to make Valorie cover one of her ears while raising the other into the air as she joined the hollering.

Nate finally walked in, well after everyone else was a few drinks in and getting rowdy. His arrival made it worse in that the noise levels were high enough to make Valorie cover one of her ears while raising the other into the air as she joined the hollering.

He and the Cup were moved around the room like he was in a pinball machine, from person to person, from shot glass to shot glass, until at last he was in front of her. The Cup had been deposited somewhere else in the room and Valorie didn’t care enough to locate it; after all, she wasn’t there to see the Stanley Cup.

With a lack of hesitation that couldn’t even be passed off on any drinking she’d been doing, Valorie threw herself at Nate, overcome by the need to make sure he knew she cared about what he’d achieved.

Nate wasn’t immediately ready for it, Valorie’s arms around his neck as she pulled him closer, but he soon realised what was happening and moved his arms around her waist to pull her off the ground.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said, breathless and rushed into his ear. “You’re so good at—at hockey and at knowing me and at taking care of me. But hockey, Nate. I want to hear all about it, okay? Probably tomorrow so I can appreciate it, but I do. I watched it. All six games. I cried I was so proud of you. I am so proud of you. You’re so good.”

“You watched?” he asked back, his warm breath brushing over her own ear and causing her to pull back with her head tilted and her face contorted.

“Yes, Nate. Of course. I thought you knew. I didn’t think I had to tell you.”

Nate pulled her back in, his face buried in her neck. The room may as well have been empty with the way all of Valorie’s senses honed in on Nate—he’d showered before coming, put on cologne that made her head spin, and his warm breath fanned across her neck which made the spinning worse.

If a loud, roaring round of applause hadn’t broken out, Valorie could have stayed pressed against him all night. As it were, though, she pulled back in a dramatic fashion and put a reasonable distance between them before contributing to the clapping—putting gross enthusiasm into it.

Nate laughed, then made a few embarrassed gestures of acknowledgement, before accepting a beer that was being handed to him.

Valorie disappeared, leaving Nate to be bounced around the room again, and hid away with Amber and Mike. They were good and spoke to their other high school friends, all of whom were surprised to see Valorie in the flesh. Luckily for her, the Cup was more than enough of a distraction from any of them asking her what she’d been up to while she was gone.

As the night grew later, it became very clear that Nate’s long day was catching up with him. He was trying, valiantly, to be the last person kicking at the bar, though his demeanour was getting progressively testier as time passed.

“I’m gonna head out. Do you want to come or stay?” she asked, brushing her hand gently over Nate’s shoulders.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, sullen, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her towards his chair. “You should stay.”

“Amber’s driving me home—if I leave you here can you get home?”

“You should stay,” he repeated, eliciting a laugh from the group he was sitting with.

Valorie laughed with them and ran her hand over his head, insisting that she was leaving whether or not he was coming with her. He hummed, resigned, but let her go so that she could follow Amber outside.

Valorie waited against the wall outside, her head resting back against the cool brick, while Amber went to get her car—Mike went with Amber, mostly because Valorie refused to be the one responsible for him keeping to the sidewalk and off the road.

The door opened and Valorie turned her head, expecting to just wave to somebody as they left, and was surprised to see Nate stepping out.

“Everything alright? You coming home?” she asked, reaching out to him without a second thought. Nate went to her easily.

“I’m going to stay for a bit longer,” he said, standing in front of her. He wasn’t boxing her into the bricks but he was definitely close enough that it wouldn’t take much at all to get there—Valorie thought it would be nice if he did.

“Why are you out here, then?” she asked, her fingers resting in his belt loops.

“I need to…”

Nate didn’t finish his sentence, just lowered his head little by little. Valorie tilted her chin up, pushing back against the wall to get a bit more height.

He wasn’t the same Nate she’d kissed at eighteen—he was broader, bigger in every sense and it was intoxicating to be pressed against the wall by the Nate she’d come to learn. In her mind she was expecting desperation, a need to make up for lost time. It didn’t come, though, and yet Valorie still felt lightheaded when he broke their kiss.

“Will you be in my bed when I get home?”

Valorie scoffed, a little disappointed, “Nate.”

“Not for like—I just want you there. I always want you there.”

She breathed out an “okay”, and kissed him again before sending him back inside to be with his lingering friends.

When he was gone and her head was clearer, Valorie opened her eyes and jumped off the wall at the sight of Amber’s car in front of her and Mike hanging out the passenger’s window.

She pushed Mike back into the car on her way to the backseat, asking before she even sat down, “How long were you there for?”

“Saw it all, babe,” Amber said, beaming into the rear-view mirror. “Never been happier to roll up on two people hooking up outside a bar.”

Valorie knew the second she woke up that things were different. The most immediately apparent difference was the snoring coming from beside her, accompanied by the warmth of an arm over her waist and a chest pressed against her back. Even the mattress underneath her felt different.

Then there was the fact that Nate had kissed her the night before, the catalyst for the other changes she supposed.

It wasn’t a bad different was her first major takeaway, and she relaxed back into the mattress. She couldn’t just lay there forever but she could for a little longer and enjoy the all-encompassing presence of Nate.

She had a fair idea of what time he usually woke up but couldn’t translate that into what might happen when he was hungover—which he was sure to be, and she couldn’t begrudge him that—so after lying in long enough that an ache started to settle in her sides, Valorie pulled herself out of Nate’s embrace and decided to start making breakfast.

Nothing fancy, of course, but she could whip up bacon and eggs and put some pods in a Nespresso machine without too much hassle. She hoped that the smell of food would wake him up, whether he was up to eating it or not and her hope was fulfilled when he wandered out while she was eating her own plate.

“You told me you couldn’t cook,” Nate said, dropping an easy kiss onto Valorie’s head as he passed her to the kitchen.

“I can use a fry pan.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Eating across from Nate, with him smiling at her in a way he hadn’t since her return, was exactly what Valorie had been after and hadn’t known. Listening to him tell her all about the things she’d missed when he was off doing Stanley Cup things and filling him in in return. Everything he said was perfect and when he moved into telling her about the Cup win itself—“You have to do it again so I can be there.”

“I’ll give it my best go.”

Valorie grinned, picturing it all in her head. She held the image in her mind as she cleared the table and it all came crashing back down when she looked at Nate over the kitchen counter as she realised that their future relied on them talking about the new state of their relationship.

“We probably need to have a conversation or two,” Valorie said hesitantly, eyeing Nate over her coffee to check for any reaction at all. When he didn’t so much as blink, she added, “It’s just been like… six weeks and I don’t actually know what we are to each other.”

He wasn’t pleased, mumbling, “Do we have to have that conversation?”

“If we’re going where I want us to, then yeah, Nate.”

That caught his attention enough to have him properly look at her, no longer buried in his coffee. His question came slow and unsure, yet simultaneously hopeful, “Where do you want us to go?”

“I want us to be together again.”

His previously wary face transformed into a smile, small and barely noticeable. Valorie smiled back at him as she continued to drink her coffee. She didn’t know how to start whatever conversation it was that they needed to have—conversations were one of their strong suits as teenagers, Valorie was able to frame things in the perfect way or ask just the right questions to get Nate talking.

Just as she was trying to come up with a way to get him talking, Nate was the one who spoke first.

“Why’d you move to Miami with him?”

Valorie froze. It made sense, in hindsight, that Nate would be the one leading the conversation when she was the one who’d left, and yet it was still like being doused in cold water to have the question asked of her so directly.

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, and provided the simplest explanation she had, “I thought I was going to marry him.”

“I thought you were going to marry me.”

“Obviously that didn’t happen, Nate.”

“Yeah,” he said, because it was entirely obvious that it hadn’t happened and the look on his face showed that he didn’t like to be reminded of it. “And I’m still trying to work out why.”

“Nate, it was seven years ago.” She added, stressed, “We were kids.”

“I still don’t know why you broke up with me, Valorie.”

“Valorie?” she all but screeched, her full name coming from his lips sending a horrible quake down her spine and through her body.

Nate powered on, “You broke up with me and you left and to this day I don’t know why that was.”

“I wasn’t happy, Nate.”

The abrupt silence was worse than the conversation. Valorie sat there, wishing she could take back those four little words—she would if she’d known just how instantly Nate would close up.

His entire face, which had at least been showing his unhappiness and discomfort, was no longer telling her a single thing about how he was feeling. Except with that, she knew exactly how he was feeling.

She opened her mouth, ready to try and do damage control, to try to take it back so that he wouldn’t look like that, except not a single word came out.

Nate beat her to it, though, the sadness gone from his face but still very present in his voice. “Why didn’t you talk to me? I know that the long distance wasn’t great—why didn’t you talk to me?”

“None of it was your fault, Nate,” Valorie stressed, reaching across the table towards him even though he was out of reach. “You were the best thing I had going at the time. I couldn’t keep a job and I couldn’t continue with college because I kept failing the classes and I needed to leave so that I could work on all of that and not drag you down with me.”

“Did it work?”

“Yeah, over the next twelve months I learnt a lot, I grew a lot. I actually was going to ask if you wanted to try again when we were both back here the next summer, but you brought a girlfriend.”

“Rachel.”

“She was lovely,” Valorie said, truthfully.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“And fuck up the thin hold you had on your mental health by dragging you down with my problems?”

“Breaking up with me and then ghosting me did a pretty good job of that.”

Valorie finally pulled her hands back to her lap, knowing that that one sentence was a sure sign that Nate wasn’t going to hold them. Him leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest made it even clearer.

She didn’t know what to say, no amount of explaining was going to be enough and she didn’t want him to think she was making excuses. At the time it had felt like the right thing to do, breaking up with him without any real reason, in the years that had past she’d come to her own realisations that maybe it wasn’t.

Nate’s voice was gruff when he asked, “When did you meet Nick?”

“The first year I was gone…” Valorie said with a sigh. “Sometime in early 2015. Before I came back that summer. We weren’t together at that point because I thought… I thought we—” she gestured between herself and Nate “—could try again. But you know…”

“Rachel,” Nate filled in, uncrossing his arms.

“Rachel. So I went back to Miami, I found Nick because he’d been good to me while I was there but we’re here now anyway. You and me.”

He nodded, still expressionless. Valorie’s leg twitched under the table, up and down repetitively, as she tried to will herself to let Nate be the next person to speak.

“You and me?” he asked, after a long silence.

“If you still want me.”

Nate sighed, pushing his chair back and standing. Valorie watched him, worried that he was going to walk away from the table—from their conversation. He walked around the table towards her, though, and Valorie didn’t have to be told to stand and meet him halfway.

Nate didn’t have anything special planned for his birthday, much to Valorie’s horror. He was going to see his family for lunch—with an invite extended to Valorie which she was more than happy to accept. She couldn’t help but laugh when she arrived and saw Sid and Kathy sitting at the table on the back porch.

“You’re almost like a second father,” Valorie joked, in lieu of a proper greeting. “You’re just everywhere. All Nate’s big moments.”

“I’m really not that old,” Sid argued.

“I was thirteen when I watched you bring the Cup to Cole Harbour. That makes you pretty old.”

He scoffed, “I turned 22 that year.”

Valorie hummed and nodded knowingly, “Old.”

She watched him roll his eyes, noting the affection on his face, and moved on to greet Kathy properly.

It was, otherwise, an uneventful lunch. Valorie was appreciative of the invite, more than pleased to finally be with Nate’s family—back with Nate’s family, and being treated as if she’d never left in the first place. Her smile was ever present, only growing as she watched Nate shift uncomfortably while Happy Birthday was sung at him. Especially when she knew she was going to sing it at him again that evening.

They stayed there until late in the afternoon and Valorie tried not to let her impatience show because she liked spending time with his family, with Sid and Kathy, but she had plans for dinner that she didn’t want to mess up. Nate knew, though, at least vaguely, so they left early enough that Valorie could relax.

When they got home, she banished him to his bedroom so that she could start to cook and set the table with the fancy table setting she’d bought the day before. She was meticulous about their dinner, returning to the recipe far more than was probably necessary to ensure that it was exactly how it needed to be, and felt a true sense of pride as it all came together.

“Can I come back out?” Nate asked, still hidden behind the wall.

Valorie looked around her, taking in the pan she was using and the cleanliness of the kitchen before she told him that he could.

He bypassed the set table, walked straight towards her, and peered over her shoulder to see what she was cooking. His laugh was gentle and sincere.

“Are you making me risotto?”

“I’ve been practising,” she admitted. “When I went to Amber’s the other day we did a test run and it was actually pretty good!”

She giggled as Nate pulled her back from the stove and turned her around, kissing her so sweetly that she nearly melted into a puddle at his feet.

The whole shop stood still, except for the large bouquet of roses that was being walked to the counter; a deep red expertly pruned and assembled. Valorie knew exactly who they were from before they had even reached her.

Everyone huddled around the vase, customers included, as it was set down on the counter in front of Valorie. She knew who they were from without even looking at the note they came with, but there was a sudden hush when her co-worker read out the note on the card: Happy Birthday, mi amor. Love always, Nick.

“You sure that says Nick?” one of their customers asked—Valorie vaguely recognised her from school, though she was positive they hadn’t been in the same year. “Not Nate?”

“I mean—”

Valorie snatched the note more aggressively than she’d intended, saying, “Nick is a friend.”

The side eyes she got from both the customer and her co-worker were far from subtle but Valorie just buried the note in her pocket and carried the vase into the back room.

They—like everything Nick bought her—were gorgeous. He had somehow managed to send her the most perfect roses from Florida and she didn’t want to think about how much money had gone into them. Every day with Nick was filled with unnecessary luxuries and that only increased tenfold on her birthday.

Until the roses came along, Valorie’s day had been uneventful. She woke up early enough for her half-day shift at the hobby store—granted to her by her boss who was horrified that she hadn’t already asked for the whole day—and discovered that Nate was already awake and making her breakfast, and he planned on driving her into Halifax.

It was the most thoughtful gift she’d received in years.

He picked her up after her shift—and after her co-worker tried not so slyly to ask more questions about the roses—and Valorie was met with a bouquet of flowers as she opened the passenger’s side door. She rushed to sit in the car, pushing the vase of roses between her feet on the floor and reaching for the pink hydrangeas Nate held.

“Oh, they’re beautiful,” she gushed, hugging them to her chest as she inhaled. “Did you have to ask someone about my favourite flower or did you just remember?”

Nate mumbled, “Remembered.”

“I can’t believe it, that’s incredible.” She leaned across the centre console to kiss him and got his cheek when he turned his head but she was too distracted by the flowers to notice. “Should I look into the meaning behind these or are they just beautiful?”

Nate started the engine, keeping his eyes firmly on the road in front of him, and Valorie tried not to read into his tense jaw. Or the way he moved his hand to the steering wheel when she tried to hold it over the gearshift.

“Who did the roses come from?” he asked as they pulled into his garage after a painfully silent car ride.

She answered, cautiously, “Nick.”

“How does he know where you work?”

“I don’t know? Insta? I don’t care about the roses, you bought me hydrangeas.”

Nate only said, “okay” before he got out of the car and left Valorie sitting in it by herself. She watched him walk into the house with slumped shoulders and an aching chest before she tried to manoeuvre herself out of the car with the vase of roses and the very large bouquet of hydrangeas.

She put the roses on the kitchen counter and then scoured Nate’s cupboards for a vase so she could put the hydrangeas at the centre of the dining table. She passed Nate on the couch as she walked to the stairs, leaning down to kiss the top of his head and thank him as she did so.

Valorie tried to put it to the back of her mind as she got ready for her birthday plans—Amber had planned a whole afternoon and evening for her and Valorie had been planning her outfit for a week. It wasn’t going to be as extravagant as anything she’d done in Miami, which she’d assured Amber was more than fine, but it was her first birthday in Nova Scotia in years and her first birthday back with her best friend so she was going to make the most of it.

Putting it to the back of her mind worked well until she ascended the stairs and saw that Nate hadn’t moved from his position on the couch.

“Amber and Mike will be here soon—are you ready?”

Nate sunk further into the couch, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his chin nearly buried into them which led to a mumbled, “I’m not really feeling it; you have fun.”

“You’re not feeling it?” she asked, hating the way her voice cracked in time with the crack in her heart. “It’s my birthday?”

“You go have fun,” he said, still into his arms. “Don’t worry about me.”

Valorie had never felt more pathetic, standing behind Nate when he wouldn’t even look at her, dressed up in one of the nicest she’d brought with her from Miami and had taken so much care with her make-up—not dressed up entirely for Nate but she definitely wanted him to at least look at her. Maybe even appreciate the effort she had gone to.

“Nate, I—I want you there,” Valorie said weakly, moving closer to him to see if she could get him to turn around. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want to go out again today.”

Valorie gave up with one last desperate look at Nate and she walked immediately through the front door to wait on the doorstep for Amber and Mike. She wasn’t going to cry about it, even if the furious blinking was barely stopping her—before Amber and Mike pulled up she pulled on her sunglasses and took some deep, centring breaths.

When Amber and Mike did pull up, this time with Amber hanging out the passenger’s side window and jumping out to pull Valorie into a tight hug as she screamed Happy Birthday in her ear, Valorie’s smile was genuine.

At least, it was until she climbed into the passenger’s seat at Amber’s insistence and they sat in the car for a few moments in silence.

“We can go,” she said, hoping that the crack in her voice wasn’t noticeable to anyone but herself.

“What about Nate?”

“I don’t want to talk about Nate.”

“I’ll fight him if you want me to,” Mike offered, completely sincerely, reaching down to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Can’t promise I’ll win but I’ll give it a go.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him and I don’t want to think about it for the rest of the day.”

Not thinking about it for the rest of the day was much easier said than done. It put a clear damper on the mood despite the smile Valorie was forcing into her face. For a few blissful moments she did forget, was able to just enjoy the company she was with and the drinks in front of her—and then it all came crashing back down on her with a heartbreaking thud.

Amber tried to talk about, to get an explanation as to why Valorie was upset and Nate wasn’t around and each time she was shut down by Valorie repeating that she didn’t want to talk about it and that she just wanted to enjoy her birthday.

There wasn’t much enjoyment happening, though, with Valorie staring morosely into every rum and coke she was drinking. They’d had Happy Hour cocktails, eaten some of the best steaks Valorie had ever come across and moved on to another bar to continue their night—it was everything Valorie hadn’t realised she missed and it was still being ruined by Nate.

Amber tried again, waiting until Valorie’s glass was empty, and Valorie reacted by standing up and saying that she needed some fresh air. When Amber tried to follow her, Valorie insisted that she was going alone.

Although Valorie had decided to go outside just to get away from any more questions, the fresh air did help. She hadn’t quite realised just how much the alcohol had gone to her head until she was confronted by the breeze coming off the river.

She rested her forehead against the cool bricks of the external walls, her arms crossed above her head, and counted her breaths in and out.

“Val?”

Valorie whipped around, her forehead and forearms scraping against the bricks, and was met with Nate’s concerned face.

“Thought you didn’t want to come out again today,” she said tersely, inspecting her forearms quickly and cringing at the grazes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, readily, without prompting. “That’s pretty up there with the most asshole things I’ve ever done.”

“You made me feel like shit.”

“I know. I didn’t—I’m sorry. I don’t have any excuse that’s good or justified.”

Valorie shuffled her feet, getting to the point where she was regretting her heels, and lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“I’d like to make the rest of your birthday better,” Nate said, visibly shrinking in and making himself smaller and less intimidating. “If you’ll let me.”

“I really don’t feel like I should forgive you, you know?” she huffed, throwing her hands in the air.

“Okay, that’s fair. I can go home.”

She sighed, “No, I don’t want you to go home. I—I’m really happy you’re here even if you weren’t before.”

The corner of Nate’s mouth lifted tentatively, “Yeah?”

Valorie nodded, and broke the rest of the tension between them by stepping into his space and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She relaxed into him, at the feel of his arms around her and the smell of his cologne filling her head. It was going to warrant a conversation, she knew that, but if she could enjoy the rest of her night she would do just that.

She led him back into the bar by the hand, having already been subjected to a brief twirl as Nate told her how good she looked, much happier and lighter than she had been when she’d walked outside.

Valorie, never one to be held down by a hangover, woke bright and early the next morning. Nate was still dead to the world beside her, a pillow pulled over his head to block out whatever noises he’d heard that she hadn’t.

It was bright outside when she left his room with her clothes bundled in her arms, unable to lie there and wait for him to stir, though the clock near the staircase told her it wasn’t even seven.

She had a quick shower—the hot water tap barely turned—and changed before she went in search of her bag, keys and phone and left a note on the kitchen counter for Nate that she was heading out but wouldn’t be long.

The roses had never left her mind, not with the weirdness they’d caused, and seeing them standing tall and proud on the kitchen counter made her know that she was making the right decision.

She wrote another note, tucking it into the flowers and made her way to her parents’ house to leave the roses and the note on their doorstep.

Mom, I think you can take better care of these than I can. Love you xxx

The round trip didn’t take overly long, so Nate wasn’t moving about the house when Valorie returned. She made herself a coffee and sat on the balcony, the caffeine working in combination with the slight breeze to keep any hangover symptoms at bay.

“Where are the roses?” Nate asked, startling Valorie when she hadn’t even heard the door slide open.

She waited until Nate was sitting sidewards on the recliner beside her before she said slowly, “With my mom. She loves roses.”

“You didn’t have to get rid of them.”

“I’m not attached to them… They were clearly making you uncomfortable, so it’s fine.”

Nate hummed, then said softly, “Thank you.”

Valorie smiled at him, grateful for the admission no matter how vague. She stood up, only to sit back down on Nate’s recliner after moving him so she could sit between his legs and relax back into him. She reached for his hands and wrapped his arms around her body.

She didn’t expect him to say anything else, happy to push the conversation they had to have to later in the day and just enjoy a quiet morning. Nate didn’t have the same desire, though.

“A guy doesn’t just send you roses on your birthday if he’s not trying to get you back.” He was speaking into her hair and if he hadn’t been so close Valorie wouldn’t have heard him at all.

She squeezed his arms and said, “If I was going back to him, I would have any of the half dozen times he’s already asked.”

She hadn’t mentioned it to Nate—to anyone—that Nick was sending things to her parents house, not many, but enough that she’d had to call him to put her foot down. The earrings he’d sent that matched the bracelet she’d been wearing the first time she’d seen Nate back in Nova Scotia were the final straw there. She’d never worn them and hadn’t put the bracelet back on, even though it was her favourite piece of jewellery.

Nate’s hesitation was evidence enough of his worry and was only amplified by the way he was holding her close and still speaking into her hair. “He’s not wearing you down?”

“Not in a good way. He seems to think that if he throws more money at me and reminds me of the life we had together and the future we could have; that I’ll just forget that I want kids.”

“Promise?”

“Remember that conversation we had? After the Cup Day? It’s you and me. I’m not going back to him.”

Nate’s forehead came to rest against the back of her head; Valorie could feel his relieved sigh.

The summer was dangerously close to ending. Valorie was counting down the days until she and Nate got on a plane to Denver, excitement and trepidation filling every ounce of her body and only getting more and more intense whenever she saw him.

There was something on her mind, though, the cause of the trepidation. A question she’d been holding onto for far longer than she intended and a question she knew she needed to ask before they left for their new life together—it couldn’t be another conversation that happened after the fallout.

Nate had just finished up his last training session with Andy, and Valorie smiled at him and only briefly cringed when he leant down to kiss her despite the sweat rolling off his body.

Andy followed Nate in, greeting her happily, none the wiser to her inner turmoil—though how could Andy be if Nate didn’t have a clue? He said goodbye to Valorie, that he’d see her when Nate was back in Canada, and she waved at him as he left.

She sat on the couch, staring blankly at the television, and listened to the shower in Nate’s ensuite turn on. With a quick inhale and in an unexpected moment of courage, she decided to join him.

“What a surprise,” Nate smirked, watching Valorie drop her clothes as she entered the bathroom.

The water was nearly unbearably hot though she didn’t falter, immediately wrapping her arms around Nate. He followed suit without missing a beat and Valorie relished in being able to rest her head against his chest and hear his steady heartbeat over the water.

“What’s brought this on?”

“You did an interview a few years ago and I can’t forget it,” Valorie said, taking a deep breath. She was thankful that the shower was hiding the wetness in her voice. “That you don’t like kids? And I—I need to know if that’s still true before… I don’t know.”

“I was never sure about having kids, I’ll be honest,” Nate said, slow, measured, and most definitely confused. “But I always knew that if I was going to have kids it was only going to be with you.”

“Okay. That’s—okay.”

Her relief was immeasurable—she had known it was causing her a lot of inner stress but to have it roll off her shoulders was nicer than she ever could have imagined.

“I love you.”

Valorie pulled away from Nate’s chest, blinking through the fall of water over her face, another sigh leaving her body. She pressed up on her toes to kiss him, unable to express herself in any other way.

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His jaw was clenched in anger the entire drive into the city. They’d had such a great night together, eating and dancing and talking about hip-hop music, getting closer and telling each other things from deep in their hearts, and then she up and leaves? Just flat-out escapes his house undetected with her dog and books it back home somehow, even though they’re in the middle of fucking nowhere? Sure, the sex was definitely unexpected, and a by-product of how much alcohol they’d consumed, but…well…despite all the wine, Nate knew what he was doing when he kissed her. He knew what he was doing when he groped her or squeezed her ass. He’d acted on impulse but he’d been wanting to do it for a while.

It was still fairly early in the morning when he arrived at her place, and when he did, he banged on the door loudly. He wasn’t going to hide his emotions. They were open and honest with each other from the beginning, and he was going to be open and honest now. He banged on the door again after a few seconds when she didn’t answer, and his impatience got the best of him as he pounded again not long after. Maybe she was ignoring him now. Because she had to have known that he’d be angry at her escape. Maybe she was—

—Wait.

Juno wasn’t barking. If he knew anything about German shepherds and Juno specifically, he knew she would bark at the door. She wasn’t.

Sorcha wasn’t home.

He swore under his breath before marching back to his car. He hit the steering wheel in frustration and let out a loud “Fuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!!” to try and release some steam. He took out his phone to call her. It rang until it went to voicemail. He called again immediately after, only for it to ring until it went to voicemail again. When he called for a third time, it rang only twice before going to voicemail, which meant she saw his name appear on Caller ID and refused the call.

Well, at least she was fucking alive.

Nate huffed and puffed as he started his car. He knew that she had to come back to her apartment from wherever she was at some point, but he wasn’t going to stake it out like some sort of undercover cop. He had better shit to do, like think about other ways he could try to contact her and ask her what the fuck was going on. Work email? Texts? Those could all be ignored. Those could also be used against him in a court of law, so they were nixed. More phone calls, maybe? Whatever Nate ended up choosing, he knew that she was at least going to get a rude awakening at work on Monday morning, that was for sure. Until then, he knew that his temper couldn’t get the best of him. He knew that he needed to calm down and actually think about what he was going to say to her besides just yelling and screaming. He began the drive to his parents’ house, knowing that just their presence alone would be able to calm him down. Plus, it was prime breakfast time. Maybe he’d talk to his dad about it, and he’d give some wise words of advice. He always did.

As Nate drove out to Cole Harbour, the streets of the neighbourhood he grew up in were all too familiar to him. Even them alone calmed him, since they brought back so many happy memories. As he turned on to his parents’ street, he drove by many of the houses of his friends from elementary school. He still remembered them all, even though friends had moved out long ago and only parents really remained. Caitlin’s house. Alex’s house. David’s house. Sorcha’s house. Ryan’s house. Scott’s house.

Sorcha’s house.

Sorcha’s house!!!

He stopped so fast and heavy on the brake pedal that his tired screeched. He put his car in reverse and backed up until he was right in front of their house, where he could see two cars out on the driveway. One, a BMW SUV, he knew for sure was her step-dad’s. The other, a black Civic, he knew for a fact was Sorcha’s. She’d mentioned it before.

The absolute nerve.

He parked in the driveway right behind her car, less than a centimetre from her bumper so she had no way out, at least by car. He took a deep breath to calm himself before getting out of the car and approaching the front door. He knocked politely instead of banging on the door like he did at her apartment, and almost immediately, he heard Juno barking.

Bingo.

After a few moments, he heard the front door unlock. When it opened, he came face-to-face with Dr. Dagar and Juno sniffing at his legs. Dr. Dagar’s face lit up at who was standing on his front porch. Clearly he watched hockey, or at the very least, remembered Nate. “Well look who it is!” he smiled.

“Hello Mr. Ibrahim,” Nate said politely. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well now that I see an NHL superstar on my front door,” he joked.

Nate chuckled. “I’m sorry to bother you this early – I’m sure you and Mrs. Ibrahim are having breakfast—”

“—we are,” Dr. Dagar said. “Would you like to join us?”

“Oh no no no, I couldn’t—”

“—nonsense! You actually came at the perfect time. Sorcha is here too,” he revealed. “She’s mentioned you recently reconnected. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you at the breakfast table,” he said, moving out of the way so Nate could step in to the foyer. “What brings you here, anyway?”

Sure she wouldn’t mind him at the breakfast table, eh? Nate would bet his entire earnings on the opposite of that being true. Regardless, Nate had to be quick on his feet. “Oh, well, we were actually hanging out the other day and she forgot something—and—and I was going to wait until I saw her again, but I figured she probably needed it sooner, and I was on my way to visit my parents, and—”

“—Say no more. Come, come, come,” Dr. Dagar motioned. Nate took off his shoes and followed Dr. Dagar through the house. For how long they lived there, and for how long Nate and Sorcha had been in school together, he’d never been inside the house. It was nice, and very homey, and reminded him a lot of the house he grew up in. There were pictures of the family smiling everywhere in frames. Juno trotted along beside them, and Nate could hear Mrs. Ibrahim and Sorcha talking.

When he showed up in the doorway, her face dropped. “Hello,” he smiled, more so at Mrs. Ibrahim than at Sorcha.

“We have a guest!” Dr. Dagar announced, extending his arms like a magician.

“Oh! Nathan! It’s you!” Mrs. Ibrahim exclaimed happily, getting up from her seat and walking straight over to him for a hug. “How are you? Come in, come in! Take a seat!”

“I’m sorry to show up unannounced—”

“—Nonsense! Sit! We have more than enough,” she said, even going so far as to pull out a seat from him, directly across from Sorcha, who was giving him a death glare. “Do you like scrambled eggs, Nathan? We have turkey bacon, too, because Dagar doesn’t eat pork, of course.”

“Both sound great, Mrs. Ibrahim.”

“It’s Maryanne, Nathan. You know that.”

“I think if my parents found out I called you anything besides Mrs. Ibrahim they’d smack me upside the head,” he joked.

Both Dr. Dagar and Mrs, Ibrahim let out hearty laughs. Sorcha was still giving him a death glare. Clearly there was no charming her, despite not needing to be charmed – it was her who would have to explain herself sooner rather than later. “How are Graham and Kathy doing? We see them every so often walking the goldens. Do they come visit you in Colorado?”

“They’re doing great, thanks for asking,” Nathan said as he watched Maryanne scoop heaps of scrambled eggs onto his plate. He made sure he looked at Sorcha’s plate and saw she was already done her breakfast. He planned to scarf his down so they could get out of there as soon as possible. “And yeah, they come visit quite often. Not as often as when I first started living alone, but—well, you know—”

“Can you believe Nate still didn’t know how to boil pasta at, like, 21?” were the first words out of Sorcha’s mouth since he walked into the Ibrahim household. “He was telling me one night at dinner.”

Before Mr. or Mrs. Ibrahim could say anything, Nate piped up, knowing he’d have to take the shot until he was able to get Sorcha alone. “I was a spoiled hockey player, what can I say,” he shrugged playfully, looking at her. “Not as good a cook as you are. That panzanella you made yesterday was incredible.”

Sorcha’s face dropped. Checkmate. He wasn’t fucking around.

“Oh! You two hung out yesterday?” Mrs. Ibrahim looked between the two. “How lovely! What did you do?”

“We just hung out at my place on Grand Lake,” Nate answered quickly, before Sorcha could lie. He watched as she squirmed in her seat.

“What did she forget that you have to return?” Dr. Dagar asked.

“Juno’s kennel,” he said. He wasn’t lying – she really did forget the kennel, and it was in the trunk of his car.

“Well, it’s nice to see you two reconnecting,” Mrs. Ibrahim said. “All those years in elementary and high school together – even growing up on the same street – and you never became friends.”

“Yeah. We have so much in common that we never realized. I think we’re making up for lost time now,” Nate replied, eyeing Sorcha. “Don’t you think?”

She was going to kill him. “Absolutely.”

Nate carried on a polite conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Ibrahim until he stuffed the last forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. Sorcha stayed silent for most of it, eyeing Nate whenever he said something. It was only when Mr. and Mrs. Ibrahim began clearing the table and bringing everything to the kitchen that they got even a few seconds alone. “So are we going to talk or what?” Nate asked quickly.

“Do we have to?”

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t think she would have this immaturity in her. He would have to call the shots here. “Looks like I’m coming over yours when we’re done here,” he said.

“Nate, would you like some coffee, dear?” Mrs. Ibrahim called out from the kitchen.

“We’ve both gotta go, mom,” Sorcha said. “Nate does workouts in the mornings with Andy O’Brien.”

“Are you saying that name as if we should know who he is?” Dr. Dagar asked.

Sorcha smiled – a real, genuine smile for her step-dad. “No. Sorry dad. Don’t worry. But Nate’s gotta go.”

Nate and Sorcha said their goodbyes, and Mr. and Mrs. Ibrahim gave him warm hugs and told him to say hello to his parents, because of course they did, because they were good people, before he descended down the front porch steps. Sorcha followed him with Juno on a leash. It was only when they got to his car, parked on the street, that she said anything. They were far enough away that her parents wouldn’t hear her. “I guess I’ll see you at mine?” she asked as he popped his trunk.

“Of course. You’re not getting away with this,” he told her.

“I was hoping I could.”

“And why is that?”

Sorcha didn’t answer. She pulled Juno’s kennel out of his trunk and didn’t even meet his eye. “You remember your way, yeah?”

“Duh. It was just fucking yesterday, Sorsh.”

She didn’t say another word. Instead, she carried the kennel to her car, shoved it in the trunk, and loaded Juno into the backseat carrier. Nate watched the whole thing until he saw Sorcha walk over to the driver’s side and wave goodbye at her parents. Nate waved too before getting into his car. He drove off without waiting for Sorcha.

They arrived at her apartment at the same time. And without saying a word, they got out of their cars. Juno was none the wiser, wagging her tail at Nate. It was only when Sorcha stuck her key in the door that Juno became preoccupied with something else. When Nate followed Sorcha through the doorway and stepped through the entrance, he was surprised at how big and open her apartment was. He knew she described it as a loft, but he felt like a lot of people said ‘loft’ when they really just meant ‘big window’. This wasn’t that – this was a true loft. And the first thing that he noticed wasn’t the kitchen or the view or anything like that. It was the art. Her art. Scattered everywhere. Some hanging on the wall. Some on easels. Some stacked against a wall. Some sketches taped with painter’s tape. And they were beautiful, too – some portraits and others landscapes, so colourful and creative and beautiful.

“Wow,” Nate mumbled under his breath.

“What?” Sorcha deadpanned.

He hesitated, wondering if he should even bring it up. When he first asked about seeing her art many weeks ago, at their oyster dinner, she’d said “maybe” and that was it. There hadn’t been an invitation since – not that Nate asked or pestered her about it, though she’d brought up her art since then. Nate knew art was personal and for Sorcha specifically, it was an outlet where she could express herself after years of not being able to. “Your art,” he said, pointing haphazardly towards a stack of canvases on the furthest wall. “You’ve never let me see it before. It's incredible.”

“Thanks,” Sorcha said, her voice tight. “It was all I was doing in my sketchbooks while your friends were making whale sounds every time they saw me.”

Nate’s body stiffened. After Shane’s asinine behaviour last week at his house, Nate didn’t know when he’d not be able to cringe or get angry anytime someone brought up a memory from the past. “Sorsh, I—”

“—Don’t—I—it’s okay,” she waved him off. “That was—I don’t even know what I was thinking saying that. Just forget I said it.”

Nate stared at her, and in a gentle voice, he asked, “So are we gonna talk?”

It was the first time since Nate reconnected with her that Sorcha looked nervous. “What’s there to talk about?” she asked. He could tell she was attempting to make her voice sound void of emotion, but he knew that wasn’t the case. “We were two drunk idiots who had sex. It’s not that deep.”

Nate furrowed his brows. “What’s your deal?” he demanded. “Why would you say something like that?”

It was time for Sorcha to give him a look. “Because it’s true?” she said. “What else would it be? I freaked out, okay? I’ll admit that. I woke up at like three in the morning with a pounding headache and with you lying beside me in bed, and I freaked out. I grabbed my clothes, grabbed Juno, and got the hell outta dodge. And maybe it wasn’t the smartest decision to make, but it was the decision I made—”

“Sorsh, come ooonnn,” he lamented, walking towards her so they were now close. Nate couldn’t believe she was being so dense. But then a thought suddenly entered his mind. “Wait…” he said. “That wasn’t…that wasn’t your first time having sex, was it?”

If the beauty of Helen of Troy’s face could launch a thousand ships, then the scowl on Sorcha’s could have launched a million. “Oh, fuck off, Nathan!” she screamed. “Of course that wasn’t my first time, you idiot!!!”

“Then why are you freaking out so much?!” he demanded. “Why are you straight up refusing to talk to me?!”

“We were two drunk idiots, Nate. That’s it,” she said – trying to say it definitively. “We slept together because we were two drunk idiots.”

“I didn’t sleep with you because we were two drunk idiots,” he said. “I slept with you because I like you, Sorcha. Because I’m into you.”

They let the words hang in the air as they stared at each other with strained looks on their faces – Nate because he’d just revealed what he revealed to Sorcha, and Sorcha because…well, for all her confidence, there was still some shock in hearing the words be said out loud. “You’re what?” she asked.

“Do I have to spell it out?”

“Did you just say out loud that you’re into me?”

“I haven’t made it obvious in the past weeks?” Nate countered. “Every lunch or dinner we’ve had, every walk, inviting you up to my place…you honestly had no idea?”

“Nate…come on,” she almost begged. “I—you—you can’t be serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious about this?”

It was clear to Sorcha that Nate wasn’t joking – he was being completely serious. She knew what her feelings were, and now? To hear his too? That they were the same feelings she was having, the same feelings she’d felt for weeks? She didn’t think it was possible. She knew they had a lot in common now, that everything was going fine and dandy, but this? This? And it wasn’t because she didn’t think she was worthy of romantic feelings from Nathan MacKinnon – she knew she was totally worthy – it was because she didn’t think he’d ever say it. It was one thing to have feelings for the fat girl; it was another to admit it out loud. Usually people hid their feelings out of embarrassment, feeling shame for having feelings for someone that society didn’t deem conventionally attractive. But not Nate. The urge within her to deflect momentarily became stronger than her will to accept. “I don’t think I—”

Sorcha wasn’t able to finish her thought because Nate had kissed her. It was like those scenes in movies where couples were fighting and one of them shut the other up with a kiss. Except she and Nate weren’t a couple. Sorcha always thought that if that ever happened to her, she’d push the person away and yell at them for interrupting her. She still believed she would if it were anyone else besides Nate. With Nate, she didn’t. She didn’t push, she didn’t pull away, she didn’t do anything except kiss him back after quickly getting over the initial shock. His lips felt just as nice as they did last night. And she wanted his lips on hers. She did.

When Nate pulled away, their foreheads still together keeping them close, Sorcha gulped. “That felt good.”

Nate kissed her again, knowing she’d enjoy it. This time, instead of taking time to acclimatize, she kissed him back right away. They kissed again for a while before Sorcha pulled away. “I don’t think I should be hooking up with a guy who was complicit in my bullying,” she mumbled.

Nate kissed her again. He knew that was a lie. That she was just making up excuses so she could hear the sound of her own voice. So she could justify to herself…what exactly? She said she forgave him a long time ago. Twice. Three times, Nate thought.

Sorcha broke away again, far enough to look at Nate. “I didn’t mean that,” she mumbled again.

“I know you didn’t,” he said. “Will you just shut up and let me kiss you now?”

They kissed each other. Over and over and over. Over and over and over until Nate had to take a breath, over and over until Sorcha had to take a breath, over and over until she jumped and sat on her counter, over and over until Nate stood between her legs, over and over until their hands wandered along each other’s bodies, over and over until Sorcha ran her hands through Nate’s hair, over and over until – finally – they needed to take a serious breather or else they’d both pass out from a lack of oxygen.

Their foreheads were still pressed against each other’s. They were silent – only able to hear the sounds of their own breathing – before Sorcha spoke. “This isn’t much of a talk.”

Nate snorted, and Sorcha giggled, and soon they were laughing at the ridiculousness of her comment. “I think we’re doing pretty okay,” he commented.

“I’ll say.”

They were silent again. Nate brought his hand up, from her hip, and cupped the side of her face. “For the record,” he whispered, “I’ve changed just as much as you.”

Sorcha nodded. “I know,” her voice was soft. “I know you have. I was just being an idiot. I’m sorry. Our history is just a bit, well…muddled. I know we’ve been having a great time together, but it still came as a bit of a shock when you, like, said the words out loud. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I know that neither of us were expecting this when I showed up at your work asking you out for lunch. But I wouldn’t say something if I didn’t, like, mean it. And I mean this. I want you to know that. Can we both at least admit that we’re into each other?”

Sorcha couldn’t help but smile slightly. “We’re into each other.”

“Finally, you say it out loud.”

“Don’t push it,” she giggled slightly.

Nate couldn’t help but kiss her again. “You know what people who are into each other do?”

“What’s that?”

“They go over to the other’s house a lot,” he said, giving her a quick peck on the lips. “And I mean like, a lot.” Kiss. “Like, on weekends.” Kiss. “Next weekend, even.” Kiss.

“Oh, is that right?”

“Mhm.” Kiss. “And maybe…”. Kiss. “They even go up on Thursday after work.” Kiss. “To get some alone time with each other.” Kiss. “Before the house party on Saturday night.”

Sorcha stiffened slightly at the revelation. “House party? Big house party? Everyone coming?”

“No. It’s not what you think,” he said. “Just Kehoe and Lucas. No Noah. No Shane. They’re not invited. But, like, Sid will be there, and I invited his best friend June, too. You’ll love her. And some of my cousins will be there. A couple of my other friends, and maybe friends of friends. But not Noah and Shane. I want you there more than anyone else. I just want you around with me.”

The last time Nate asked her to go up while others were going to be there, she said no – for obvious reasons. And though slow, Nate realized why she’d rejected the proposal. But now, with everything being out in the open, with their feelings known and the chemistry between them unmistakable, Sorcha had a different outlook on the situation. She wouldn’t just be there – she’d be there with Nate. And if it was mainly going to be Kehoe, Nate’s cousins, Sidney (who she’d probably fawn over all night, if she was being honest), and Sidney’s best friend June whom she would apparently love, then she was more than willing to go. No Noah, and especially no Shane, was like music to her ears. She cupped his face in her hands, running her thumbs along his thin lips softly. “I’ll see if I can take the day off Friday,” she whispered, making him smile.

“Perfect,” Nate smiled. “You and I are going to have so much fun, Sorcha Saint-Coeur.”

When she was one of the principal dancers at the National Ballet of Canada, she’d been filmed for a video on their YouTube channel for this exact routine and it went viral, tallying something like 20 million views to date. Everybody apparently wanted to know how the best ballet dancer in Canada – and one of the best in the entire world – prepared her pointe shoes. Ballet already fascinated people, she thought, and pointe shoes were about 90% of that fascination. How could someone balance their entire weight on their toes? And not just balance – how could someone dance on their toes? Spin on their toes? Jump and land on their toes? For three hours? June made it look easy. She made it look effortless, like she was floating on stage at any given moment. “Magical” was often the adjective used.

Going back up en pointe again, after years of not doing so, was something June never thought she’d experience. She thought she’d be dancing well into her thirties. But the best laid plans… The first time she went back up en pointe, it was rougher than she wanted it to be. It was harder than she wanted it to be. With all the dancing and practice she’d done since she could walk, she thought it would be much easier. But no. Her body had betrayed her in a way she never thought she’d be betrayed. It failed her on one thing she’d gotten so much recognition for in the past; it failed her on the one thing that had made her famous. She knew she had to have patience with herself, but it was still frustrating. For years her body had been contorted and hyperextended and abused to look a certain way on stage and now it couldn’t even do the thing she wanted. She’d had more blisters than the entire popular of Halifax, more shin splints than she could shake a stick at, muscle strains, dancer’s heel, Achilles tendonitis, snapping hip syndrome, patellofemoral pain syndrome, and even osteoarthritis. She found a lot of anger in herself before she realized that she’d already given so much to ballet that she didn’t need to give anymore.

For all that her mom did when she was growing up, June really did love ballet. It brought her a solace not much else could bring. When she danced, she felt free, like she could do anything and be anything. And when she was performing on stage, she could become someone else. She didn’t always have to be Juniper Brooks, who grew up working class in a basement apartment in a suburb of Halifax with a pseudo-psychopath of a stage mom. She could become Odile, or Odette, or Sleeping Beauty, or Giselle – she could be anybody else but herself, and that helped her, in its own way, realize who she was a person with and without ballet. Ballet was truly one of the things she loved most in life which was why, when she couldn’t dance anymore, she decided to teach. It had given her so much, so she wanted to give back.

Ballet for June was hockey for Sidney. They’d both had their fair share of joys and pains associated with hockey and ballet while in Cole Harbour. For June it was her mother and jealous girls in her classes; for Sidney it was other boys (especially the older boys) with intent to injure him, and parents. Imagine. Grown-ass adults being jealous of a kid. If June could have, she would have told off every single one of them to their face. Because she knew she couldn’t do that without developing a reputation, sometimes, she’d scream and cheer for Sid so loud in the stands to drown out the parents’ jeers. They’d look at her like she was crazy, but she knew she was doing the right thing. Some of them would even look disappointed, as if they were sad Sidney wouldn’t be able to hear them call him names or tell their kids to get him. The funniest thing about the situation was that when Sidney won his Stanley Cups and brought them back to Cole Harbour, she’d see them waiting in the parade route or autograph line with their grandchildren.

Such was life.

***

Katja Simmons was one of June’s best friends, the person she was closest with besides Sidney, of course. They met at boarding school, having been roommates for their last two years, making the company together straight out of school. While June was promoted to principal dancer, Katja became a first soloist, and was still dancing with the company. Their positions meant that they usually got to dance together on stage – which is how June liked it. She liked having someone on stage with her that she could trust.

“Have you proposed to Sidney yet?” Katja suddenly asked over the phone. Their pair had been talking for over an hour and a half at this point, and the question really came out of nowhere.

“What?!” June shrieked. “Katja, what the hell?”

“Oh come ooooonnnnn, June,” Katja pressed. “He’s been back home for a while now. Have you proposed marriage?”

“Katja—”

“—Be his wife—”

“—Katja—”

“—Because you know you want to.”

“Katja!” June shrieked again. “Where is this coming from?”

“You know how much I love love,” Katja said as if that explained everything, and honestly, it kind of did. Katja had gotten married last summer to her long-time boyfriend, Niko, after almost ten years together. June was her maid of honour. She brought Sidney as her date. “And I’ll just never forget how he looked at you when he saw you for the first time after Swan Lake. Or how you two would write letters to each other literally every single day throughout high school. We can all see how in love you guys are. I just—I can’t believe you can’t see it, June! Or don’t.”

“Katja, I’ve told you – it’s so much more complicated than that,” June said. “He’s my best friend.”

“But that’s the way it’s supposed to be! Look at me and Niko. You wouldn’t want to marry someone you’re not friends with, right?”

“Of course not,” June agreed. “But it’s different. It’s…it’s…”

“It’s what?”

June took a deep breath. “Sidney is the most important relationship in my life – that I’ve ever had in my life. Between my mom being the way she was and Sidney just always being there for me – being this constant presence in my life even when we moved so far away from home and each other – Katja, I wouldn’t want to ruin anything. I can’t ruin anything. If I don’t have Sidney, I have nothing. Ballet can be taken away from me, but Sid can't.”

Katja was quiet momentarily, taking in June’s words. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Of course.”

“You’re not going to ruin anything because you can’t ruin what you and Sid have. It’s beyond that point. I don’t think your worry should be if you’re going to ruin anything – you shouldn’t have any worries at all. I think that you and Sid should have a talk about your future together, because you guys have been in love with one another your whole lives. You’re it for each other. It’s like When Harry Met Sally – remember what Harry says at the end? When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. You two need to realize it. Once you do, the rest of your life is going to start.”

***

“Have a good night, Chloe,” June smiled as she propped open her studio door to let out her remaining student. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sid’s SUV inconspicuously parked in the corner of the lot. She was expecting him, so it wasn’t much of a surprise, but she wondered if anybody else in the parking lot coming to pick up their kids did.

“Goodnight, Miss June! See you tomorrow!” Chloe waved off as she rushed to her parents’ car, throwing her bag into her brother’s face in the backseat before getting in herself.

June waved at the entire family as they drove off and watched them turn onto the street. It was only then that Sidney turned off his car. She watched as he got out and made his way towards her, a smile on his face. “Hey Junebug.”

“Hey. Come in,” she said, keeping the door open until he walked through, locking it behind him so nobody could pop in. They walked through the small lobby and into the dance studio – the only space they really felt any privacy, despite the door being locked.

They sat down in a corner of the room, knees touching since they were sitting so close. Personal space was a thing of the very, very distant past for them. “You’ve got a big smile on your face,” Sid commented.

“I’m happy to see you,” she said, trying not to hear Katja’s words from their phone conversation lull around in her mind. “Plus, some of the girls got their acceptances.”

“Really?”

“Claire, Malika, and Isabella are going to NBC,” she informed him. “And Zoë was accepted to the Royal Winnipeg Ballet.”

“Wow!” Sidney exclaimed, genuinely shocked at the news. “That’s incredible!”

“I know. They’re over the moon. I’m over the moon for them,” June couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Big difference from how I found out. And much different reactions, too.”

“God, yeah. I still remember that day,” Sidney said. “It’s still so clear to me – that look on your face as we met on the sidewalk. And you telling me everything afterwards. You were so upset, Junebug.”

“Could you blame me?” she asked.

Sidney shook his head. “Not at all.”

2002

“Do it again.”

June inhaled deeply. Her feet were killing her. Her knees were killing her. Her arms were killing her. The second she had gotten home from practice, her mom had demanded they practice everything in class again, since June fell out of one of her landings once. “Mom—”

“—Don’t mom me—”

“—Please, I’m exhausted,” she tried.

“Exhausted? You were the one who chose to fall out of your landing during the routine. Now do it again.”

The routine in question was Odette’s variation from Act 2 of Swan Lake. Most girls in her class still had trouble with staying en pointe during specific turns or for more than a minute of choreography. June was perfecting two-and-a-half minute character role variations. She and the other girls weren’t even on the same planet. But it still wasn’t good enough for her mom. “Mom, I’m beg—”

“Do it again, Juniper!” she snapped.

June held in the tears, the fatigue, the outright exhaustion, the everything, and assumed position. Her mother hit the play button on the boombox and the classical music began. If she was going to get out of this and satisfy her mother, she needed to execute every move with absolute perfection – her mother wouldn’t settle for anything less. So she did – every arm motion, every turn, every movement of her body was done with such precision that June almost shocked herself, considering the time of day and the fact that she’d already been in a four-hour class. She hit the last pose perfectly, and the music stopped. She waited for her mom’s reaction, scared of the outcome.

“Much better,” she said. “It should be like that all the time. Now go shower and get ready to eat.”

June didn’t have to be told twice. She left abruptly and ran into her room to take off her pointe shoes and leotard. She didn’t allow herself to cry until she got into the shower, and even then, wiped her tears away furiously. Her entire body ached at how much pressure and stress it had been under that day, and she felt she could barely raise her arms anymore to wash her hair. After she dried herself off, brushed her wet hair, and changed into some new clothes, she went back out into the main living area. Her mom had already put out her plate to eat: a small filet of salmon, steamed broccoli, and some cherry tomatoes. To anyone else, like Sidney, the portion size would probably be a snack; for her, it was dinner. Even a glass of lemon water was already made for her. When June sat down, she noticed her mom eating the same thing, but double the portion. They ate in silence.

June retreated to her bedroom after dinner to finish homework from the weekend and prepare what she needed for the upcoming school week at Astral Drive Junior High. It would have been the time that she called Sidney, too, but he was at a hockey tournament this week and June knew he and his family were probably driving home right now (and that he was probably doing his homework in the car). She’d have to wait until tomorrow to talk to him.

June wasn’t expecting a knock at her door from her mom. Usually, after dinner, her mom left her alone. After today especially, she didn’t think her mom would bother her. But alas, she was wrong. June wished she didn’t have to see her face until tomorrow morning. She took a deep breath. “Come in.”

Her mom opened the door and stood in the doorway, watching June at her desk with a binder open. “That last performance you did – it should be like that every time, Juniper.”

June stayed silent for a few moments. “I know. My arms were hurting rea—”

“—That’s the lazy girl’s excuse,” her mom dismissed her. “I push and I push and I push because you’re lazy and you can do better. If you’re not pushed, you fall behind. And then what good are you, hmm?”

By this point in June’s life, she’d heard those words a million times. But it didn’t sting any less. She fought to hold back her tears. “I out-danced everybody in cla—”

“—You danced like a lazy, selfish, stupid girl,” her mom interrupted again, not letting her get a word in. “I was embarrassed for you. Every penny I make goes to your dancing and you weren’t even fucking trying. You better start acting and dancing like a ballerina or else some other girl is going to steal it from right under you before you go.”

June furrowed her brows. “Before I go where?”

All of a sudden, her mom’s face had switched from agitation and anger to one of almost pride and smugness. “The Dying Swan,” she began, referring to a piece June had practiced meticulously and had performed at a local recital a few weeks ago. “A trainer from the National Ballet School was in the audience that day. Yulia called her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the National Ballet School has recruited you. You’re going to boarding school in Toronto.”

June’s heart stopped beating before it fell into the pit of her stomach. While she should have been happy about the opportunity to go to the best ballet training and high school in Canada, she couldn’t feel happy. At all. Instead, she felt blind-sided. The thought of leaving home, of leaving everything she knew, was scary. And the thought of leaving one person in particular – Sidney – made her sick to her stomach. There was no way she would go through with it. She couldn’t – not while Sidney was still in Cole Harbour and she was being shipped off to boarding school in a city she’d never even been to. She didn’t think she was mentally strong enough, and she wished her mom could see that – that it would probably do more harm than good. “No,” June shook her head.

“What did you just say?”

“No. I’m not going.”

Her mom’s eyebrows raised. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Juniper Brooks?”

“I’m not going and you can’t make me,” June tried to remain strong. “I’ll stay in classes with Yulia.”

“To hell you will,” her mom was harsh. “You’re going to Toronto and that’s final. All the paperwork is done. Your dorm room’s even been assigned. You don’t have a choice in this, Juniper.”

“No!!!” she screamed, and every emotion, every tear that she was bottling up inside came out with it. She shot up from her chair, and that’s when her mother turned her back and began walking away from her. “I’m not going! I’m not!” she followed her out.

“This was all done for you!” her mother screamed back. “All for you! And look how ungrateful you are!”

“Mom, please,” June pleaded with her. “Please don’t make me go. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll train more. I’ll put in more hours. But please don’t make me go there all alone.”

“Empty promises from a lazy girl,” her mom shot back. “Hopefully the school teaches you hard work. And dignity. God knows you need it as you stand there begging.”

“Mom,” her voice was full with tears now as they streamed down her face. She didn’t know what she could say to make her mom change her mind. She knew the tears wouldn’t help – if anything, it would make it worse. “Mom, please. Please. I can’t go.”

“You will go, Juniper.”

“Mommy—mommy p-please,” she wailed. June thought of only one thing: she got down on her knees, even though they hurt more than anything, right up against her mom. Her mom whipped around to see June putting her hands in prayer position, looking up at her with red eyes. “P-P-Please mom. You can’t separate me and S-Sid. I can’t g-go to T-T-Toronto. I c-c-can’t leave him. I can’t leave him. He’s my b-best friend. I can’t be that far away from him. I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you want. But I can’t leave Sidney. I can’t—I can’t be alone without him s-s-so far away—”

All of a sudden, there was another smug look on her mother’s face, but this time, it was mixed with amusement. Sick, twisted amusement. “Well well well,” she said, concealing her smile, crossing her arms against her chest. “I guess Sidney hasn’t told you yet?”

June froze in position. “Told me what?”

“Sidney’s leaving too. He’s going to a hockey boarding school,” her mom revealed. “In Minnesota.”

The words were like a nuclear bomb to June. She kept frozen in her position as the words sunk in. Sidney’s leaving to a hockey boarding school in Minnesota. Of course June knew about the possibility because Sid told her, but it seemed like such a long shot because it was a private school, and neither of their families had that kind of money. If there had been a change, Sidney would have told her about it. Right? She understood she wasn’t a Crosby, but she may as well have been one, and she would be the first person to know…right? Right? “You’re lying,” she found herself saying, tears still streaming down her face. “You’re lying and you know it.”

“I’m not a liar like you,” her mom spat back.

“I—you—that’s a lie. That’s a lie. You’re j-j-just saying that so you can ship me off to b-boarding school and never see me again,” June cried. “You’re lying b-because you hate me.”

“I’m not lying. You can ask Sidney tomorrow.”

“Sidney would never do that to me.”

“He already has.”

June felt like she was going to throw up. Both outcomes were horrible. If her mom was lying, then she was just a nasty liar; but if she was telling the truth…well, the truth was worse. The truth was much worse. “I hate you!” June wailed. “I hate you I hate you I hate you!!!” she wailed over and over again.

“I’ll live,” her mom dismissed her. “You’re going to that school if I have to drag you there kicking and screaming, Juniper Brooks.”

June got up from her knees. With all the emotion she had left in her, she screamed one more time. “I hate you!!!” With that, June ran back into her room sobbing, collapsing onto her bed as she cried and cried and cried.

Her mom didn’t come knock on her door for the rest of the night. Even when June’s sobs were so loud, they could be heard through the walls.

***

The next day, as Sidney waited for June on the sidewalk so they could walk to school together, he saw her approaching from the distance. He’d missed talking to her last night. Their usual Sunday night phone call usually had June reminding him of all their homework they did and that he had to bring to class for their teachers. But as she got closer, Sidney could see she wasn’t happy, and when she got even closer, he noticed her eyes were red. That could only mean one thing. “Were you cr—”

“—Are you going to boarding school in Minnesota?” she demanded.

Sid’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t find the words. “I—I—”

“No bullshit,” she swore. They hardly ever swore, even alone together. “Are you going to a hockey boarding school in Minnesota or not?”

“It…it literally just happened, Junebug,” he said, admitting it. “How—how did you know?”

“When did it happen?”

“We got the call Saturday at the tournament. They called my coach because he has a cell phone. How did you know?” he asked again.

“My mom told me.”

“How’d she find out? God, word must travel fast. One of the guys must have told someone back here and—”

“So you’re going?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Sidney paused. “Junebug, I—my parents and I had a really long talk about it. Like, really long. And we all think it’s best that I go, at least for a year, and see what it’s all about, and so I can get away from all the…noise over here. I was going to tell you, Junebug, I swear.”

June broke out into a fit of tears. They were streaming down her face like Niagara Falls. At least in Sidney’s situation, he and his parents talked about it. They thought about the pros and cons and made the decision as a family. As opposed to her situation, of course, of just being told of being shipped off somewhere with no choice. “My mom told me last night,” she managed to say through tears. “She told me because—because I was crying about…about…”

“About what?”

June tried to wipe away some of her tears. “My mom is sending me to boarding school in Toronto. For ballet,” she revealed. “She told me last night. I told her that I couldn’t—I couldn’t leave you. That’s when she told me about Minnesota.”

Sidney couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re going to Toronto? For ballet?”

“Against my will,” she said. More tears rushed down her face. “I want to be with you, Sid. I can’t leave you. I can’t go there on my own without you. I can’t—I can’t…” she couldn’t speak anymore, the sobs overcoming her.

Sidney hated seeing her cry, even though it happened every so often. It was one of the worst things in the world to him. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly as she cried on his shoulder. The sound of her sobs shook him to his core, because instead of annoyance or just general sadness, there was fear in them. “It’s going to be okay, Junebug,” he said, rubbing her back.

“No it’s not.”

“I’ll make sure it is.”

When June thought about it, when she really thought about it, it was the moment she fell in love with Sidney. She remembered clinging on to him for dear life, as if he was about to float away to Minnesota if she let go. She wasn’t ready for anything that was coming her way that late spring or summer, but she knew she would have been a lot worse off if Sidney didn’t help her through it. She remembered being so scared. She remembered hardly being able to sleep the week before they both left. She remembered them saying goodbye to each other and her bawling her eyes out in the taxi, crying so hard she threw up. Sidney had promised her that everything was going to be okay, and she believed him, but the fear kept creeping up.

“Hey Sid?” she asked after a few moments of silence, her voice soft.

“Hmm?”

“Remember when you told me it was going to be okay?” she asked. “It all was okay in the end, wasn’t it?”

“Of course it was,” he nodded. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

June couldn’t help but smile slightly. “As if you had the power to do anything. We were teenagers.”

Sidney shrugged. “I would have found a way,” he said. “I still wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

They looked each other in the eyes just then, letting the words hang in the air for an immeasurable amount of time. Sidney meant the words he said, and June knew it; he wouldn’t say them if he didn’t. Over thirty years of friendship, and he still felt that way. Through all the tears he had to hug away, the classes and competitions where she was worked to the bone, the cruel gossip from others, the unfair rules, the tiny meal portions, the feelings of loneliness – he would use all the power and influence he had in the world to make sure nothing would happen to her. Over thirty years of friendship, and she felt the same way about him. Through all the bullying he encountered, the taunts and jeers and slashes and hits, the news articles written about him as a kid proclaiming him to be everything from a local hero to a pissy show-off, the girls in their class who would grab his hands and twirl around and yell “I’m going to marry Sidney Crosby! He’s going to be a millionaire!” when they were twelve, thirteen, fourteen years old – she would never let anything happen to him.

June got up suddenly, all in one go. Sidney stayed firmly planted on the ground, looking up at her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get my pointe shoes.”

Sidney tried to remain calm, but he felt a nervous tightening in his chest. He nodded his head and watched her walk out of the room. While she was gone, he moved so he was sitting up against the wall of mirrors, underneath the barre. When June came back in, she was wearing ballet tights with a low back camisole leotard and a black pancake tutu. She had a new pair of pointe shoes in one hand, and her pointe shoe kit in the other. She sat back down across from him, without a word, leaving some space between them to have everything in front of her.

Sidney watched. He watched as June meticulously prepared her pointe shoes, as she’d done thousands upon thousands of times before, as he’d watched her do when they were teens. She was like a surgeon performing a quadruple bypass; the precision in everything that she did to prepare them was so detailed and thorough, it was probably only rivalled by his own pre-game rituals and superstitions. Hearing the familiar pop of the shank or watching as the needle and thread broke through the delicate satin – it was all part of a process he was so familiar with, and respected so very much, because it meant that June could do what she loved.

Only when she was done did either of them speak. “I’m going to stretch and warm up,” June informed him, pushing her phone that she left on the floor towards him with the pointe of her shoe. “When I’m done, I’ll tell you what song to play. My phone is connected to the speakers.”

“You got it, Junebug,” he said, watching again as she went over to a space at the barre and began stretching, hoisting her leg up and rising and falling, just as she’d learned so many years ago. She even went to get a roller. When she was done, Sidney was attentive to her every desire.

“There’s a mash-up song in my music – it’s not in my Spotify – it’s called Odette/Odile variations,” she said. “And turn the volume all the way up.” Sidney didn’t recognize the name, but scrolled through anyway, until he found it. He made sure the volume was on the highest setting before tapping on the song and putting her phone down beside him.

The second that the music began, Sidney knew exactly what kind of dance he would be seeing. June had performed every principal role in every major ballet in her day, but Swan Lake was her favourite, and being Odile/Odette was her favourite role, more than Giselle, or Sleeping Beauty, or Juliet, or any of the others. He thought she would choose an easier piece – he didn’t know why he thought that – but no. June was going for the big guns: the two solo variations where the ballerina really got to shine, showing off her immaculate technical skill and sophisticated character work.

Sidney watched in awe. It was like she hadn’t even stopped dancing. Her arms were fluid, her legs were straight, and she went up en pointe as if it was the easiest thing in the world. She executed every move flawlessly. Even her facial expressions were just as he remembered them when he would visit her in Toronto and buy tickets front row, centre stage to see her perform. The muscles in her legs, arms, and back were still strong and definite, carrying her gracefully around the room as she performed every pirouette, every attitude, grand jeté, sissonne, arabesque, double cabriole, brisé, and entrechat six with grace, elegance, strength, and determination. When the music for Odette’s variation ended, and she transitioned into Odile’s, Sidney knew exactly what he was going to get. Though she transitioned to embody Odile instead of Odette, her movements were just as precise, and there was something different about the way her body moved to take on the character. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen in anybody else, and June executed it so flawlessly. She did every time, and just because this was an audience of one, it didn’t matter.

Then the French horn and trumpets began. The symbols clashed. The infamous song blared through the speakers. June took a few moments to herself, when the danseur would traditionally dance, and then it was on. Back in the centre, arms extended, aaaaand…

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen…

Sidney could feel the tears well in his eyes as he watched her.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty…

Sidney’s heart stopped beating as he watched her complete the set. She did it. She fucking did it.

Thirty-one. Thirty-two.

She landed her ending pose perfectly – and she wasn’t even done. She had to end the pas de deux, and she did so in a flurry of piqués and chaînés that saw her whip herself around the room like a tornado. After more pirouettes, entrechat six, looking down and extending her hand to an invincible danseur, the music hit its last note and June flapped her arm out like a wing.

Then, silence.

Sidney and June let everything June had just done speak for itself and stand on its own. The first time Sidney had seen June do this, he had cried – and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. The crowd had erupted in a raucous applause at her completion of the 32 fouettés and at the end of the pas de deux, and he had gotten swept up in the moment. Now, alone in a ballet studio in Halifax where she’d just done the same thing, there was silence. It wasn’t until June forced her body out of the pose, and made eye contact with Sidney, was any other noise heard.

A sob.

June let out a sob she didn’t know she was holding in and practically collapsed into Sidney, who quickly outstretched his arms to catch her. He held her as they sat on the floor and she cried in his arms. They didn’t say a word to each other. Everything was being said in what they were doing – holding on to each other for dear life. It was only until June stopped crying that she pulled away to look into Sidney’s eyes.

And when she did, she knew that look. She knew that look because it was the same one she gave him, that she never gave to anyone else. Not even to her ex-fiancé. “You love me,” she said. She didn’t ask, because by the look in his eyes, she knew.

Sidney nodded. “And you love me,” he said, a statement and not a question, too.

June nodded. “All this time.”

“I think we’ve been in love with each other for thirty-one years and didn’t realize it sooner,” he said.

Only about five minutes later, she watched as Nate slipped into the café wearing a baseball hat and workout gear. With one quick look up, he spotted her at a table against the red brick wall and moved quickly, not needing to be waved down. “Hey,” she greeted him as he slipped into the chair opposite her. “Thanks for meeting with me. I really appreciate it.”

“There’s no way we could have left it where we did,” Nate said. “I’m such a fucking dick. I’m sorry for yelling at you outside your work.”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you outside my work,” Sorcha added. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t more…you know, forthcoming with why I didn’t want to go to your house. It’s just—”

“—Don’t apologize, I should have known,” Nate said. “Not only am I a dick, I’m an idiot too.”

“You’re really not,” Sorcha shook her head, clasping her hands together on the table. She stayed silent for a moment, trying to find the words to say what she wanted to say to Nate. “It’s just really, um, hard for me, Nate…because I know they’re your friends, but I also know that I have to set boundaries,” she explained, her words coming out slowly – though that only increased their impact. “Kehoe I don’t mind – all he did was dote on you all your life, and he was kind of like you in the way that he never actually said anything, but laughed along with everything. Lucas is sort of the same, I guess. But Noah and, of course, Shane…I don’t want to be around them, Nate. I just don’t.”

“I get it. I—don’t worry, I get it,” Nate said. “It took me so long to realize why you said no, and it was a huge mistake on my part. I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable. God, that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“It’s not even about me being uncomfortable. It’s about the years of rage I have pent up inside me,” Sorcha explained, smiling slightly at the end. “I don’t know what I’d do or say if I was in the same room as them, but I know it wouldn’t be pretty. I guess I kind of wanted to save you from that, too.”

Nate shook his head. “You don’t have to. They deserve everything that’d come their way,” he said through gritted teeth, clasping his own hands together on the table, dangerously close to Sorcha’s. “I only really talk to Kehoe and Lucas, you know. The others just hang around in the summer when they know I’m home. It’s not like they reach out much when I’m out in Colorado.”

Sorcha furrowed her brows. “Then why are you even friends with them anymore?” she asked. Nate shrugged his shoulders. “I—okay, never mind, that’s none of my business. Can we just—”

“—Can I say one more thing?” Nate interrupted.

“Of course.”

He looked her in the eye. “I meant what I said on the phone. About how all I could think about was you that night. How I missed you. How I want to spend time with you.”

There were those words again. A shiver ran up Sorcha’s spine upon hearing them again. She had tried so hard to reject them that night, until she finally came to the conclusion that she deserved to hear them – and deserved to hear them from someone like Nate. Someone who she enjoyed the company of, had gotten to know better, and thought about more often than she liked to admit. “I know you did,” she said, her voice low. “I—please Nate, can we just—can we apologize and move on? Can we pick up from where we were?”

“I want nothing more than that,” he nodded. “I’m sorry, Sorcha.”

“I’m sorry, Nathan.”

They looked each other in the eyes and smiled, almost bashfully, as the words hung in the air between them. Of course, clear communication had resolved the fight they’d had, which began due to a lack of communication. Sorcha internally vowed never to do that to Nate again. Nate internally vowed never to lose his temper around Sorcha again. “What are you doing th—”

“—Excuse me,” a voice suddenly interrupted their conversation. A man who looked like he was in his late thirties, dressed in jeans, a polo shirt, and a baseball cap approached their table apprehensively. Sorcha watched as his eyebrows raise as he rested his eyes on Nate. “I’m very sorry to interrupt, but are you Nathan MacKinnon?”

Sorcha’s breath hitched in her throat. She hoped to God this wouldn’t happen when out with Nate, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. It just so happened that it had to come after one of their more intense and emotionally charged conversations. “That’s me,” Nate nodded, putting on a smile.

“I’m sorry to bother you and your friend, but my kid is just outside with his mom and he adores you. Do you mind if I call him in?” the man asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Nate agreed. The man thanked him profusely before power-walking towards the door of the café. Sorcha watched as he called out to his son, and he re-entered the café holding his son’s hand. “Hey buddy,” Nate said gently when they were close enough.

When the little boy realized who Nate was, his eyes were wider than the sun beaming outside. “Nathan MacKinnon?!” he gasped.

“How are you?”

“I’m g—I—I’m your biggest fan!” the boy exclaimed, still awe-struck. “I play hockey just like you and I want to play just like you and Sidney Crosby!”

“Well let’s hope you play more like Sid and less like me,” Nate joked, causing the dad to laugh. “How old are you, buddy?”

“I’m eight.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Oliver!”

“Can Oliver get a picture with you?” the dad asked, piping in for his son. Nate agreed – of course – and Oliver jumped in. Before he got his phone out of his pocket, the dad eyed Sorcha, who was looking on quite amused by the situation. “Sorry,” he offered.

“It’s no problem at all,” she was gracious. If it had been the dad asking for a picture and autograph in the middle of their conversation, it would be one thing, but this was about a kid meeting his idol. The dad snapped a few pictures before telling Oliver to thank Nate for his time.

“I hope you win the Stanley Cup this year, Nathan MacKinnon,” Oliver said. “I hope you win and I hope you bring it back here so we can all have a parade.”

Sorcha eyed Nate discreetly. She knew that, at his core, he was still torn up about not winning it this year. “Thanks buddy,” Nate replied, giving the boy a smile. “Have fun playing hockey. Maybe you’ll be the next superstar from Cole Harbour.”

Oliver and his dad left after a plethora of thank yous. Nate focused his attention back on Sorcha, breathing out for the first time since the interaction. “That was nice of you,” she said.

Nate shrugged off the comment. “What I did wasn’t nice. It’s what anybody would do.”

“I sometimes forget how much people idolize you,” Sorcha said. Despite hearing his name on the news all the time, to be hit with his influence right in the face was completely different. “You mean a lot to that kid. You probably made his childhood.”

“Do I mean a lot to you?” Nate asked suddenly.

The question took Sorcha off-guard. She wasn’t prepared for it, and didn’t know how to respond. The one thing she did know was that she had to tell the truth. There was no use in lying, or masking the truth to appear as if she wasn’t vulnerable, or that them getting closer these past few weeks meant nothing to her. “You’re getting there, I think,” she replied.

Nate nodded slightly. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing that I’m aware of.”

“Wanna come over mine? Just us, alone?” Nate asked.

Sorcha couldn’t help the bashful smile that took over her face yet again. He was relentless. He just couldn’t give up. At the same time, she was willing to give in. Because she deserved it. She deserved good things. And this was a good thing. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

***

It was Wednesday night when Victoria sent Sorcha – who was curled up with Juno on her couch watching re-runs of Schitt’s Creek – a post on Instagram followed by a text:

SPOTTED: Superstar curator, acclaimed East Coast artist, and all-around amazing human being Sorcha Saint-Coeur seen in the background of a photo with some apparently famous guy named Nathan MacKinnon who kids want to take pictures with. xoxo, Gossip Girl

Sorcha chuckled slightly, opening the post Victoria sent. It was from the other day, when she and Nate had met up at the coffee shop to apologize to each other and a father and son had approached Nate for a picture. Sorcha was caught in the background of the photo – smiling, thankfully, and looking at Nate and the kid taking the picture. Sorcha noticed Nate was tagged in the picture, but that it wasn’t from the dad’s account. Instead, the NHL’s official Instagram account had re-posted it, with the caption “When in Halifax!” Sorcha 100% believed they couldn’t come up with anything more creative. With over 190 comments, she became curious. What could possibly be so interesting that it warranted almost 200 comments? She clicked on the caption.

@_alexandrajones: new gf?

@thompsondavis14: no way lol must be a sister or a cousin

@daisydee: girl in the back nate’s new girl?

@terry55: a hockey player would never date a non-blonde

@jennyyy497: tumblr bout to find out that girl’s blood type

@5356annie: for real. new gf?

@marinalove: no way in hell that’s natemac’s gf

@johnnyg: it’s very obviously an old friend or cousin

What made it so fucking obvious? Sorcha huffed reading the last comment, and it took everything within her not to hit the reply button and type out ‘actually, we fucked last night’ on the thread of responses, just to fuck with everybody. But she knew she didn’t need to because she had nothing to prove. She didn’t need to because nobody needed to know who she was, what her role in Nate’s life was, or any of her business for that matter. It was better (and safer) to remain completely anonymous and let people speculate whatever they were going to speculate.

@avsfan92: friend or girlfriend in the back?

@jessyjohnston: obvious friend

@erikjohnsonfanclub: cute kid, but the girl in the back?

@tamasingryfe: friend? cousin? dentist? anybody but gf, clearly

Sorcha’s eyes rolled so hard she was afraid they’d get stuck. What was it about people that made them think the hockey player would never be with someone with her body, and not the other way around? Were people still so backward, so stupid? Instead, she swiped out of the comments and post, back to the conversation with Victoria.

sorchasaintcoeur: I think that should be his superhero nickname sorchasaintcoeur: Apparently Famous Guy™

Sorcha locked her phone and snuggled more into Juno, ignoring any thoughts about the comments she’d read just seconds earlier.

***

Nate couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face when he saw Sorcha exit her apartment with an overnight bag and Juno on a leash. He’d been leaning against the side of his Range Rover waiting for her after he’d called to say he was there to pick her up. Earlier that day, while she was at work, he’d gotten groceries, two bottles of wine (though he knew he had a bunch at his house), and craft beer from a local brewery and put it in the backseat. Sorcha was wearing a summer dress and sneakers, having changed out of her work clothes. She kept her hair long and curly, just how he liked it, although he knew she wasn’t dressing for anybody except herself. “This must be Juno,” he said, pushing himself off his Range Rover.

“Of course you acknowledge my dog first,” Sorcha joked. “I don’t blame you though, she’s kind of a babe.”

“Hello Juno,” Nate put on his dog-voice as Juno approached him, Sorcha letting the leash elongate enough so Juno could smell his outstretched hand. Once she finished with his hand, she moved on to his knees, and shins, and feet, sniffing furiously all over his legs. “Do you smell Cox on me? You’re going to meet him very soon. He’s a bit of a hunk.”

“Oh geeze,” Sorcha rolled her eyes playfully. “Sorry to break it to you, but no dog is as beautiful as my Juno.” Instead of respond, she watched as Nate outstretched his hand once more; in turn, Juno began to lick it, signalling her approval of this new figure. Nate eventually opened the trunk so Juno could get into the tailgate, and Sorcha made sure to put her overnight bag in the backseat next to the groceries.

As Sorcha slipped into the passenger’s seat, Nate turned on the ignition. She noticed a USB cord. “What are we listening to?” she asked.

“Surprise me,” Nate said, handing her the cord. “Just no country music.”

Sorcha arched her brow. “Do you honestly take me as the country music type? I lived in Florence for God’s sake.”

“No,” he snorted. He loved how she used living in Florence as a justification for not being into country music. “Just a warning, that’s all.”

Nate put the car in drive and signalled to join the road. Sorcha was scrolling intently through her phone, with a definite purpose. Finally deciding on a song, she tapped her screen and made sure the volume was up. The beginning sounds of “Compton” by Kendrick Lamar filled the car, and Nate’s jaw dropped. “Kendr—Com—Sorsh, you’re into hip hop?!” he was shocked.

“Uh, yeah,” she was confused by his reaction, although she had an inkling she knew what his reaction was all about. “I love hip hop. I’ve been listening to it forever. Do you—you’re into it too?”

“Yes! I love hip hop! It’s practically all I listen to!” he exclaimed. God, first they had the German shepherds in common, and now this? Nate couldn’t believe it. “You’re telling me that the entire time you had your headphones in during high school, you were—”

“—I was listening to hip hop, yeah,” she finished the sentence, blushing, chuckling, not believing this was happening at all. “Kid Cudi, Drake, ASAP Rocky, Kendrick, plus a bunch of the older stuff – Eminem, Nas, Jay-Z, early Kanye, Tupac, Biggie, Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre…”

“How did I not know this?!” Nathan exclaimed, flabbergasted at the discovery. “How is it that all this time we were into the same music and I never knew?”

“You never asked, Nate,” her answer was simple, but honest.

They were both quiet, the impact of Sorcha’s words weighing on them slowly but surely. He didn’t know because he never asked, because he had better things to do, like play hockey and hang out with his friends who called her ‘Sorcha the Orca’ and laugh at all the rumours they spread about her. He didn’t know because he was caught up in his social circle and being a teenage boy, and it was extremely rare – almost a miracle – if a teenage boy ever thought that someone beyond their social circle could have similar interests. He didn’t know because he never took the time to actually get to know her until now.

“I guess I didn’t, huh?” he asked, ashamed, like so much else to do with Sorcha and their past.

“At least we know about it now,” Sorcha offered, not wanting to see guilt in his face or hear it in his voice. “Does this mean I can control the music the entire way up to your place?” she tried to lighten the mood.

“It does,” Nate smiled, making sure to signal his merge onto the highway. “This also means I get to ask you so many questions.”

They couldn’t shut up about hip hop music for the entire car ride. They asked each other about their favourite albums, fought over whether College Dropout or Late Registration was Kanye’s best, discussed the age-old question of Tupac versus Biggie, and so much more. It was clear to both of them just how much they missed of each other growing up being closer to sworn enemies than friends from not speaking. What could have been if they knew this – and more – about each other when they were 12? 13? 14? How would the trajectories of their lives have changed? What kind of relationship would they have today? Though they both tried not to focus on the ‘what ifs’ and focus on the now – being in the car together driving up to Nate’s house – they both couldn’t help but linger on the thought.

When they arrived at Nate’s driveway, he opened the gate using his special remote and waited for it to open. There were butterflies in his stomach now, though he didn’t know why. “Where’s Sid’s house?” Sorcha asked.

“The lot to the right,” he said, pointing amongst trees. “I don’t know if he’s in town, though.”

“Well it’s not like I want to visit him.”

Nate chuckled. “And what if he just popped over for a visit unannounced?”

“Does he do that?”

“He does. A lot.”

“Then you might have to perform CPR on me, because I’d die.”

Nate laughed out loud, driving his car along the driveway towards his house, which was set back further into the lot, near the lake. “I was never trained in CPR – think I might have to call an ambulance.”

“God, they’ll never get here in time. At least I’d die knowing Sidney Crosby knows that I exist.”

Nate desperately wanted to say ‘He already does, don’t worry’, but decided against it. Too much could have been opened up with that simple sentence. Instead, he waited as his house came into view, the trees surrounding it swaying slightly in the wind, the perfectly manicured lawn glistening. “Here it is,” he said.

Sorcha had been watching the entire time. She tried to make it so that her jaw didn’t drop upon seeing the house, but she was so overwhelmed with the sheer size and beauty of it that she was sure her jaw did drop. “Holy cow, Nathan,” she whispered. “What a beautiful home. Tim Horton’s must be paying you a lot of money for those commercials.”

He snorted, parking his car outside of the coach house. “Come on, get your stuff. It’s even better inside. And Juno can meet Cox, finally.”

Nate went to get Cox first, and after a great initial meeting between the dogs, he got the groceries out of the car while Sorcha grabbed her overnight bag and portable crate. Walking into the house, she was amazed at the simple yet beautiful interior. After setting the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and setting up the portable crate next to Cox’s, Nate gave her a tour of the house: the formal living and dining rooms, which he barely used and were only really there to collect dust; the huge eat-in kitchen that had massive accordion patio doors out to the deck that overlooked Shubenacadie Grand Lake; the office, which the architect planned for the house, even though Nate didn’t particularly need an office; the five bedrooms upstairs, including the guest space Sorcha was staying in, and his master bedroom with its own balcony overlooking the trees and the lake; and finally to the basement games room, entertainment room with bar, and the massive gym with floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened to the outdoors.

To say Sorcha was impressed was an understatement. The house was so tastefully done, and though it was large, it was still homey – it didn’t feel like a show home or one of those houses where she was scared to sit on the furniture. After seeing it all, she concluded that it was all very Nathan more than anything: big, but unpretentious. “Your house is beautiful, Nate,” Sorcha said quietly, as they stood in his gym looking out the glass doors onto the lake. She could feel him look over at her so she looked over at him. “I know—I know it probably doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I mean that sincerely. This is a beautiful house.”

“It actually does mean something coming from you, so thank you,” he said, nodding once, noting the sincerity in her voice. “It was mostly the architect and interior designer. And, you know, input from my parents and stuff. But thanks.”

“You’ve built quite the life for yourself,” Sorcha continued. “It’s great to see. I never thought I’d say that, but it is.”

Nate couldn’t help but smile. Oh, how times had changed. Just a few weeks ago, he’d never thought he’d hear those words come out of Sorcha’s mouth. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever see her again. She had virtually completely slipped from his memory. And now here she was, in his house, the way he wanted it to be right now. “C’mon…let’s go back upstairs and get started on dinner.”

They went upstairs, Juno and Cox following behind them, and began taking everything out of the grocery bags. Sorcha had sent him a list of everything she needed to make the side dishes that night, whereas Nate was responsible for the protein. Nate took the two bottles of wine out of the bag last and held them up. “Shall we begin?” he asked.

“Definitely,” Sorcha smiled, watching as Nate opened a cupboard and reached for wine glasses. “Do you have speakers in here? I can connect my phone and make a playlist.”

“God yeah, it’s on Bluetooth,” he informed her. He watched her take out her phone before he eyed all the ingredients set out on the counter. “So what exactly are you making here?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she mumbled, not even bothering to look up from her phone.

He chuckled slightly. “Come on. What is it?”

It was only then that she eyed him. “Oh my God, are you one of those Tom Brady types who doesn’t eat, like, iodized salt and nightshade vegetables?” she asked.

“No!” he got defensive. “Not at all!”

“Oh my God you are, aren’t you?!” she exclaimed.

“No I’m not! I’m just genuinely curious!” he tried to cover.

She eyed him skeptically. “I’m making an orzo salad and then some panzanella.”

“Panza-what?”

“Panzanella. It’s a traditional Italian dish from Florence. It’s why I asked you to get the stale, on sale bread instead of the fresh one.”

Nate smiled. “You gonna cook me some Italian food, Sorsh?” he winked playfully.

“Don’t push it,” she said, though her heart couldn’t help but flutter slightly at the wink. Nate finally uncorked the bottle of wine and poured some into the glasses, sliding one across the counter towards her. She took it in her hands, looking Nate in the eye. God, they were so blue. “What are we toasting to?” she asked.

“To alone time,” he said, raising his glass slightly.

Sorcha smiled. He was going there. He was really going there. And she was going there too. “To alone time,” she clinked their glasses together delicately before taking a sip of the wine. “Oh, that’s delicious.”

He smiled, too. “Start the music. I’ll start marinating the chicken.”

They worked in harmony around the kitchen, with Nate marinating the protein simply with olive oil, salt, pepper, and parsley, and with Sorcha boiling the orzo and chopping all the necessary vegetables to go in the pasta salad and panzanella. Nate watched as she chopped and prepped everything expertly, rapping along to the music as she did so. He’d join in, too, and they’d look up and smile and giggle at each other. When he started the charcoal barbeque, he set the table outside. Soon, Sorcha came outside with her orzo salad and panzanella dishes, even handing Nate his wine glass. Before he knew it, he was sitting down with Sorcha across from him, perfectly grilled chicken thighs, orzo salad, and panzanella adorning his plate.

The music was lowered and made for some great background noise as Nate and Sorcha ate their dinner and carried on their conversation while the sun set over the lake. While they still talked about rap music, they also moved on to other subjects, and just like the drive up, they couldn’t keep quiet. Between the good food, the good wine, and the silence surrounding them from the lake, Sorcha had to admit this was one of the loveliest dinners she’d had since living in Florence. For Nate, who was enjoying the company more than anything, it was definitely the loveliest dinner he’d had in a while, too. He made sure to eat slowly, and pour himself and Sorcha a second and third glass of wine, just so it could all last longer. And when they finished the first bottle, Nate wasted no time opening the second.

“Hey Nate?”

“Hmm?”

“D’you remember…God, this is so stupid—”

“—Tell me.”

Sorcha took a deep breath. This was probably the alcohol talking, but she needed to let it out. “D’you remember one of first dinners – the one where we just ate Sober Island oysters all night?”

“Yeah…”

“Remember how I said after high school, I made the choice to embrace people who loved me and didn’t judge me, and take every opportunity that came my way so I could live the life I wanted to?

“Of course,” he nodded.

“Well, I’m happy I made the choice to come here with you,” she admitted out loud. “I—I’m happy to be spending this time with you, alone up here with no-one around. And I feel—I feel I can be myself around you, when I wasn’t able to when we were growing up. I think that’s the biggest thing. You know the real me now, just like how I know the real you and not the guy I see on TV all the time.”

Nate couldn’t help the smile that took over his face as she said those words. She was standing near him, countless glasses of wine deep and saying those words to him, and all he could feel were butterflies in his stomach. “I think it help that you’ve been getting the real me from the beginning,” he said. “I never pretended to be someone I wasn’t. Just like you.”

“It did help,” she nodded her head. “I mean, it got us here.”

By the time the food was finished, the both of them were, well…tipsy. With two bottles of wine split between them, they were in a giggly mood, and so playful with one another. With the third open and on route to being poured, any semblance of nervousness, apprehension, or timidity about spending time alone together at Nate’s house was completely gone. “I’m gonna play some more music,” Sorcha smiled as she picked up her phone while Nate loaded the dishwasher, seeing a couple of missed notifications from Victoria on her lock screen before swiping and going into Spotify. She clicked on the first thing she saw – “King Kunta” by Kendrick Lamar – before pressing the shuffle button.

“Aaaaahhhhhhhhhh noooooooooo!!!” Nate exclaimed, covering his face with his hands as he blushed from embarrassment. “Why would you do this to me?! Why?!”

Sorcha furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

“This song! This song is gonna haunt me forever!”

“Nate, what the fuck are you talking about?!”

His eyes got a bit dewy as he looked at her. “You—you haven’t seen the video?”

“What video?”

With his critical thinking capacities affected by the alcohol (and the fact that it didn’t look like they were going to stop drinking any time soon), Nate pulled out his phone instead of letting the whole thing slide. He swiped through his videos folder before shoving his phone at her. The infamous video from the 2015 World Championships played, much to Sorcha’s astonishment. She started laughing uncontrollably at his stupid dancing, the hand motions, the beer drinking, and the stupid smile on his face. He was so proud of his dance moves. “Oh my God, Nathan.” She watched him shimmy back and forth with his stupid face, half of the team watching and filming him. “Oh my Gooood, Nathan!”

“We had just won the gold medal!” he exclaimed, as if that explained it all. “Give me a break!”

“What is…what is this?!” she asked, mimicking part of the dance moves. “What is that?!”

“Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!” Nate was crushed.

“You are a disaster,” she giggled out, shaking her head in amusement. She never thought she’d see him so embarrassed, even though it wasn’t really something to be embarrassed about. Everybody had stupid dance moves they went to – even her. “You’ve gotta teach me this dance, Nathan.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Yeah, you really do,” she said as she closed the dishwasher. The other dirty plates could wait until tomorrow. She grabbed her wine glass and took a gulp. “Come on. How do I shimmy like you?” she asked. “Like this? Eh, eh, eh, eh!” she mimicked the sounds he made in the video.

“Sorsh!”

“Show me, you goof!” she demanded. It took some egging on, but finally, finally, Nate danced with her, just as ridiculously as he’d done in the original video, and for the rest of the song they danced together to the funky beat, giggling at each other’s moves along the way. Sorcha ended up laughing so hard she had to stop, almost falling over before leaning herself over the counter as leverage. “You’re never going to live this down,” she managed to get out.

“Don’t I know it.”

“I’m gonna remind you about it every day for the rest of our lives.”

Nate couldn’t help but smile at the insinuation, at the thought that she’d be around for that long. “You promise?” he asked. He didn’t know if that was the alcohol talking or not.

“I promise.”

They both took another big gulp of wine. The song changed and Nate opened the fridge to grab yet another bottle of wine, as if he hadn’t just opened one. “I got smores in the cupboard too,” he said, a stupid drunken smile appearing on his face. “You want some?”

“Do you even have to ask with smores?” Sorcha shot back.

Nate grabbed the smores, holding them against his chest. Sorcha grabbed the wine bottle and replenished their glasses until the third bottle was empty. Two drunk idiots near a fire probably wasn’t the wisest choice, but they miraculously managed not to burn themselves once Nate turned the flame on. As the songs played and they assembled their smores with the fine motor skills of a two-year-old, Sorcha couldn’t stop giggling and staring at Nate like she was still a schoolgirl; for his part, Nate couldn’t stop staring as Sorcha either, mentally kicking himself for ever having doubted how great of a person she was and how it took him so long to realize they were so alike. He would never be able to recover the lost time, but he certainly wanted to make up for it. Despite the darkness around them, both Sorcha and Nate felt nothing but light in them. The night was going as perfectly as either could have hoped. They danced their stupid dance moves, rapped along with the songs, drank the rest of their wine, and had chocolate and marshmallow all over their mouths by the time they were done.

It was only when ‘Smile Like You Mean It’ by The Killers came on that Nate paused and looked at her weird. “This isn’t hip-hop,” he chastised.

“God Nate, I don’t listen to only hip-hop,” Sorcha rolled her eyes. “I love other music too.”

“Like who?”

“Them,” she raised her wine glass up to signify The Killers, before taking a huge gulp. As Nate turned off the flame for the fire pit, she listed more bands. “Mumford and Sons, Sam Fender, Arkells, Springsteen—”

“—My parents love Springsteen—”

“—They have great taste,” she smiled. “Maggie Rogers, The Lumineers,…oooh! And I’ve been loving Leon Bridges.”

Nate watched her as she listed the names of the artists she loved, as she bobbed her head along to the song as she did so, and how, in between saying names and right after she was done, she sang along with the lyrics. He took a huge gulp of wine before deciding half way through to just finish off the glass. “Have you looked up yet?” he asked her, trying to distract himself and the feelings that were creeping up in his chest.

“Why?”

“To see the stars,” he said. “We’re out of Halifax. No light pollution.”

Sorcha looked up, and when she did, he watched as her jaw dropped. “Ho-ly shit! Look at all those stars!” she exclaimed.

“Cool, isn’t it?”

“You get this all the time while you’re here?”

“When the sky’s clear, yeah,” he said. “The house sort of blocks behind us, but on the balcony outside my bedroom—”

“—take me to the balcony,” Sorcha demanded. “Oh my Goooddd! Take me!”

She almost left without him, grabbing the fourth bottle of wine and her phone from the counter as they hurried through the house. When they stepped out into his balcony, Sorcha dramatically whipped her head up again, seeing even more stars than before. “Wooooowwww,” she was rendered speechless at what she was witness to. “I can’t believe how clear it is! How many there are!”

“Told you,” Nate smiled.

They stayed silent as Sorcha kept her head up and admired the sky above. She’d never really seen it so clear before, and so populated with stars. It was so beautiful to her, and something she knew she would want to see over and over again. How could she not? For a girl who grew up and lived in cities her entire life, stars so bright in the night sky could be so magical.

Nate had taken the wine bottle from her and replenished both their glasses – sloppily. He definitely spilled some. “Hey Sorsh?”

“Hmm?”

“Show me your favourite Leon Bridges song.”

Sorcha bit her bottom lip to keep the grin off her face. She scrolled quickly through her phone and took another big swig of wine before tapping. There was silence before beautiful, simple guitar chords began to play peacefully, with nothing else accompanying them. Nate watched as Sorcha swayed with them, closing her eyes and mouthing along to the lyrics sung by one of the most soulful voices Nate had ever heard.

Been travelling these wide roads for so long My heart’s been far from you, ten thousand miles gone Oh, I wanna come near and give ya every part of me But there’s blood on my hands, and my lips aren’t clean In my darkness I remember Momma's words reoccur to me "Surrender to the good Lord and he'll wipe your slate clean" Take me to your river, I wanna go Oh, go, take me to your river, I wanna know Dip me in your smooth water, as I go in As a man with many crimes, come up for air As my sins flow down the Jordan Oh, I wanna come near and give you every part of me But there's blood on my hands, and my lips are unclean

Nate couldn’t handle it anymore. He took a few steps forward then, as Sorcha opened her eyes to look at him. The presence of his body in such close proximity to hers felt so good, so nice. She liked it so much. So much. Was that the alcohol talking? He wrapped his arm around her waist, looked down at her, and in one swift movement without hesitation, he kissed her.

Like, kissed her. Not a little peck. Not something innocent. A full-blown kiss – open mouth, full force, tongue grazing her bottom lip already desperate for entry.

Sorcha kissed back just as hard. Not shocked. Not scared. Fully wanting it. Fully wanting to give it, too. Maybe all the wine gave her the boost she needed.

Nate had wanted to kiss her since he saw her come out of her place, and she not much longer after that. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down, sticking her tongue down his throat with him reciprocating shortly after. They stumbled a bit until they backed into the railing, but didn’t take their lips off each other. Sorcha could feel Nate’s big hands grab on to her hips and the material of her dress, squeezing at her flesh there before moving his hands to grope her ass over her sundress, causing her to gasp out. Before either of them could say anything or pause, their lips were desperate to be reattached. Their kisses were sloppy and felt almost manic due to the pent-up energy they both had in them from wanting this for so long.

In the briefest second that their lips were parted once more, Sorcha was able to whisper something she never thought she’d whisper to Nathan MacKinnon. “Take me to bed.”

Nate got excited. They moved from the balcony back inside to his bedroom with their lips not leaving one another’s until he sat down on his bed and pulled her on top of his lap. Her sundress rode up her thighs as she did so, exposing them and allowing Nate to squeeze at her flesh there too, eventually moving back to squeezing her ass underneath the fabric of her sundress. Eventually, his lips and tongue made their way down her neck, and his hands came up to pull down the straps of her dress. Groping her over the fabric, he kissed along the top of her breast then, with Sorcha tugging at his shirt and pulling it over his head before he kissed at her other breast. There was no room for words, no room for speaking, no room for much else besides kissing and groping and moaning.

Sorcha had been with other sexual partners before, but there was something about Nate’s body that drove her absolutely wild. It was so toned, but not overly muscular, and it was clear that he maintained it seriously but still made sure he had fun. Sitting on his thighs and grinding on them meant she could feel how thick they were. She could also feel how hard he was getting, and her body was hot from the intense passion they shared. She bunched up the material of her dress, and Nate helped get it over her head, leaving her in her bra and panties on top of him. Nate flipped them over quickly so she was laying on the bed and he was on top of her. She fumbled with the button and zipper of his pants but eventually got it, sliding them down. He took off her bra, and made sure to suck at her nipples quickly before sliding her panties down.

They kissed each other a few more times before Sorcha could feel Nate push inside of her. It felt incredible instantly for both. “Ooooh Jesus,” she let out, her voice barely louder than a whisper as she arched her back slightly. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

Nate attacked her lips, pumping in and out of her. He let out a grunt at her words. “You feel incredible. This is incredible.”

They looked into each other’s eyes then, relishing in the feeling of their bodies connecting in a way they never thought plausible just a few short weeks ago. Sorcha thought she’d never see Nate again, and now she was under him in bed having some damn good sex. Nathan never thought he’d see Sorcha again either, and now he was fucking her in his bed after making the first move himself.

Their moaning got louder as Nate increased his pace, and he could feel himself getting closer with every thrust. Their pent-up energy meant that this wasn’t going to last long – there was no way it could with how much passion and alcohol that was between them. It was meant to start and end quickly but be a hell of a ride. “Can I come inside you?” he asked, the alcohol consumed slurring his speech.

Sorcha nodded. “Please.”

More sloppy kisses. More moans from her, and grunts from him, getting louder and louder. Nate could feel her walls tighten, and she let out a cry as she orgasmed. He came with her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, trying to catch his breath from how incredible it all felt. He gave her one last kiss before collapsing beside her in bed, the both of them trying to catch their breath.

Neither spoke. Neither said a single word. Instead, the alcohol caught up to them, as did the events of the day, and instead of realizing exactly what they’d just done, they drifted off to sleep.

***

Nate’s eyes fluttered open at the God forsaken hour of 6:30 the next morning. Before he could even really wake up or open his eyes, he could feel his head pounding. He’d have to get water. And Advil. Maybe he’d throw up at some point and feel better. Maybe he’d have to break open some Gatorade to recuperate. He’d have to get the same for Sorcha, and have them ready for her when she woke up: an extra strength Advil, a water bottle, and a blue Gatorade. Maybe she preferred red.

He rubbed his eyes for a good minute, and tried massaging his forehead to bring some sort of relief to his headache. He turned his head to the side Sorcha fell asleep on, expecting to see her naked body in bed, her curly hair against the white of the pillow, her beautiful face sleeping.

Except she wasn’t there.

That woke Nate up quickly. He furrowed his brows. Okay, maybe she had gotten sick during the night and ran to the washroom to throw up and just ended up sleeping on the floor. That had happened to him and a lot of his buddies before. So he got up out of bed slowly, with his head pounding, and walked over to his ensuite.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Maybe she was back out on his balcony to admire the morning sunrise view. So he walked over to the doors that led to his balcony.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Maybe she had switched rooms in the middle of the night to the original guest room she was supposed to be staying in. So he walked down the hallway, knocked on the door as a warning, an opened it slowly.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Maybe she had already woken up and was looking for Advil, water, and Gatorade herself in his kitchen. He put on boxers and a t-shirt and made his way down the stairs, slowly, so he could greet her in his kitchen.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Nate’s chest tightened. Maybe she was out on the deck, enjoying a morning coffee. He looked through the doors.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Maybe she was down in the gym, since it had the walkout. He went down to his basement to check.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Maybe she was out on the dock, sitting with Juno, admiring the beautiful view just as she’d done yesterday. He slipped on a pair of slides so he could walk outside and down towards his dock.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

It was Canada Day, which meant that June was over. Sidney heard his screen door open as the sun set over Shubenacadie Grand Lake, and saw June carrying their drinks – a Jack and coke for him, a margarita for her – before she closed the door with her foot and walked over. “Thanks Junebug,” he said as she handed him his drink.

“Anytime,” she smiled, settling in right next to him, as she often did, the entire left side of her body pressed up against his right. She raised her margarita and he raised his Jack and coke. “To Canada,” she said.

Sidney clinked their glasses together. “To Canada.”

“And to Mr. Canada-who-scored-the-Golden-Goal.”

Sidney snorted. “You just had to, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” June put on an exaggerated smile, clinking their glasses together again for good measure. “Do the people across the lake still do fireworks?”

“Mhmm,” he nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

“Good, she said, leaning her head against Sidney’s bicep as they looked out onto the lake. “Nothing can beat this sunset, though.”

Sid smiled, taking another quick sip of his drink. They were quiet for a few minutes, just listening to the sound of the lake waves gently rolling. Sidney was thinking about the feeling of June nestled into him. This was far from the first time that they’d been in this position, but the feeling of her body so close felt…different now, especially when Andy’s words were still mulling around at the back of his mind.

Sidney thought about June as a wife. She’d been engaged before, to a man named Cameron Currie from Toronto. His family bred thoroughbred horses at a farm north of the city and had been doing so for generations – they socialized in very prominent circles and donated money to the arts, which is how June met him. He was a nice guy, well-to-do, great pedigree and all that, but they called off the wedding. June told him it was because they couldn’t work out some things, and that they could never find a resolution. While Sidney was happy for her, and wanted to see her happy, at the back of his mind, he would think about her life as a wife. Would they buy a new house together, or inherit his parents’ farm? Would June be a hostess to the social circles and put on parties with passed canapés and champagne flutes? Would she put all their commitments on a shared calendar? Would she visit him at work and support him in his business endeavours? Would she take off her robe at night, get into bed, put hand cream on, and read a book until she fell asleep? Would she kiss him goodnight? It was probably sick to think about, but Sidney did it anyway. And whenever feelings of jealousy would arise in him, he’d squash them down quickly, wondering why he was even feeling jealousy in the first place.

For the first time, Sidney’s mind wandered, and he let it go further, further than he’d ever taken it before. He thought about June as his wife. He thought about her teaching her classes and him dropping by more often and how her girls would probably giggle and call her Mrs. Crosby instead of Miss June just for fun. He thought about her being home when he got home from a game or a road trip and hugging him at the door. He thought about her running him an Epsom salt bath for him after a long road trip or gruelling game. He thought about her making him grilled cheese sandwiches when he missed home. He thought about her cuddling into him at night and holding each other as they slept, or being one of those couples that always had to be touching somehow when they slept, even if it was just a foot. He thought about her attending his games – more of them, obviously, since she’d be around all the time. He thought about waking up together in the morning and making coffee. He thought about hearing the sound of little feet running down the hallways and jumping into bed with them to cuddle underneath the covers.

He thought about June as a mom. He held his breath in his chest when he did, but his mind was running wild. He thought about breakfasts together in the mornings and dinners together at night. He thought about everybody helping out in the kitchen and throwing spaghetti against the cupboards. He thought about being at the table and doing homework together. He thought about school runs and birthday parties and hockey practice and dance classes. He thought about Halloween costumes and Christmas decorations. He thought about baking cookies for Santa and wrapping the kids’ presents and staying up to put them under the tree. He thought about June scooping their kids up in her arms and peppering their faces with kisses. He thought about her brushing and braiding their hair. He thought about them reading to their kids at night. He thought about them sitting out on the deck, with their kids in their lap, watching Canada Day fireworks over the lake.

Their kids.

Sidney could feel his heart skip a beat at the thought of having a family with June. To say he never thought about it would be a lie, but every time his mind wandered and it did come up, he would think to himself that it was impossible. They’d grown up together, they had been separated but still stayed close, they had entered into other relationships with other people and never once mentioned the possibility of being together. Being with him – was it something June even wanted? Being with him in that way? And more than that – she wasn’t just with him. She was with Sidney Crosby. He knew that he wasn’t “Sidney Crosby” as an abstract idea to her, as he was to everybody else, but she would be with Sidney Crosby and the idea of Sidney Crosby, and that was a lot to take on. He could understand completely if—

“Sid?”

“Yeah Junebug?”

“You were just sort of…out of it there,” she said, her tone having a bit of worry. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, trying to play it off. Just thinking about you as my wife and the mother to our children. “Just had a rough workout with Andy.”

“He didn’t even give you the day off for Canada Day?”

“You know Andy.”

June laughed slightly. “I do. He never quits.”

When the sun had set, and the sky became pitch black except for the light of the moon and stars, the fireworks from neighbouring cottages on the lake began. The distant sounds of kids screaming every time a pop went off and exploded into the air made Sid and June smile. They were done their drinks by the time the fireworks finished, and they were both almost too comfortable to get up. But it was getting cold, and June’s feet were always colder than the rest of her body. When they moved inside, Sidney immediately got a blanket out of a pouf June made him buy for the family room and turned his TV on to Netflix. “What are we watching?” he asked.

June was bringing their glasses back to the kitchen. “I don’t know. Something patriotic?” she joked.

“I don’t think so,” Sid grinned. “Come on. What have you been watching?”

“Honestly? Selling Sunset.”

He burst out into laughter. “Seriously, Junebug?”

“It’s addicting!” she defended herself as she walked back to the family room. “It’s mindless and mind-numbing and I love it, okay? Forgive me for getting into a show like that after the doom and gloom of the last year and a half.”

Sidney rolled his eyes playfully. “Alright, fine. Selling Sunset it is,” he said, plopping down on the couch, into the corner of the sectional. June unfolded the blanket, sat on the couch next to Sid, and lay it at their feet. She leaned into him just as she’d done outside, using his bicep to rest her head against. He scrolled through Netflix to find the show, and played the episode and season June told him to play.

He had no idea what was happening, so he would ask June some questions. “What’s her name?”; “Her husband is how old?”; “Wait didn’t we just see her?” At some point, he noticed June’s voice get softer. Eventually, when he pointed out how ugly a house was and she didn’t respond, he looked down to see that she had fallen asleep against him, her chest rising and falling softly. She looked incredibly peaceful that Sidney couldn’t help but smile. Like many things, this wasn’t the first time, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last time. This time, he decided not to wake her. Instead, he let the TV show be background noise and allowed himself to fall asleep too.

***

Nathan MacKinnon and the Colorado Avalanche had, unfortunately, been defeated in the playoffs by the Las Vegas Golden Knights. That meant now that Nate was back home in Halifax, but it also meant that Nate was angry and trying to get over yet another second-round exit by his team. As one of his best friends, but more importantly his mentor, Sidney took the role very seriously. He had talked to Nate already – a long, emotional conversation – and assured him that he felt the same way about his own team’s exit. It took a while, but Nate did seem to get over it – superficially, at least – and was in the mood to work out on a consistent schedule with Sid and Andy. This was a positive, since Nate loved them. He took his diet, nutrition, and fitness extremely seriously – unlike Sid, who ate what he wanted to eat (like four grilled cheese sandwiches made by June) and drank what he wanted to drink.

However, despite the workouts being consistent and Nate’s typical responses of getting hot-headed and angry when he lost a race or a drill, Sidney was shocked to see that at this particular workout, Nate was paying more attention to his phone than he was the pylons for his lateral movement training. But when he saw the tell-tale answer – a smile from Nate – Sid knew he was going to rib him. “What’s keeping you on your phone?” he decided to start off light.

He clearly caught Nate off guard. Nate looked up quickly, pretending that he hadn’t just spent the last few seconds staring at his phone screen and smiling. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” Nate was dismissive.

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Sid pressed, a grin growing on his face.

“It’s nothing. Just drop it,” Nate insisted.

“Stop pretending it’s nothing,” Sid countered, being an ass.

“Not pretending.”

By Nate’s tone of voice, Sid knew he had him right where he wanted him. “Then why were you smiling?”

“God, what are you, a private investigator?”

“Detective Crosby at your service,” he said. “Come on, man. Is it a girl?” he asked, already knowing the answer to the question.

“No.”

“Is it a guy?”

“No.”

“Is it—”

“—Sid, I’m asking you nicely. Please drop it.”

Sid could tell Nate was ready to explode by the playful line of questioning. Nate didn’t like to get called out on his mysterious behaviours and when he did, he went off. Sid was one of the only people who could call him out on it though. Though Sid wanted to take things further and aggravate Nate a little more, he dropped it. “Okay, fine. But if it’s a girl you should bring her around sometime,” he put in one last quip.

“Oh, you mean just like how June’s meeting us for lunch?” Nate decided to bite back. Two could play at this game.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nate rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I have to spell it out for you, do I?” he asked. “You guys are in love with each other. Always have been.”

Sid furrowed his brows. “Where’d that come from? Did Andy tell you to say something?”

Nate laughed out loud. “Andy thinks so too?” he asked. Clearly Andy hadn’t said anything to Nate, which made what he said all the more shocking to Sid. “Nobody has to tell me anything, Sid. I saw it the first day I met her, and I see it in you all the fucking time. We can all see how in love you guys are.”

Sid shook his head. He couldn’t take this from a guy eight years younger than him. “It’s not like that. It’s different with her. She’s my best friend.”

“Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?” Nate asked rhetorically. “You wouldn’t want to marry someone you’re not friends with, right?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“—But what? It’s not rocket science. You guys just don’t see it, do you?”

Sid couldn’t say anything back. He couldn’t talk back to Nate because he knew Nate made a good point. Just like Andy. But Sid couldn’t say that out loud, because he was still trying to grapple with his feelings, whatever they were. “Hey Nate?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m asking you nicely. Please drop it.”

Using Nate’s own words against him was the only way Sid knew to fight back at this particular moment. Nate understood that completely, but he wasn’t going to let Sid off the hook. And truth be told, Sid shouldn’t have let him off the hook either. They were best friends – they should be able to talk about this stuff. “Her name is Sorcha,” Nate revealed. “We grew up together. Went to all the same schools. But she was bullied really badly because of her size and her hair and all that stupid shit, and I was friends with the guys that did it. I saw her the other week in a café and we’ve been reconnecting. I don’t know exactly what’s happening but I know that I want to be spending almost all my time with her.”

“So you like this girl?”

Nate nodded. “I like her a lot. It almost scares me how fast I got really into her. She’s a sparkplug and she takes no shit from anybody, let alone me. She’s got this confidence to her and I—I’m just so attracted to her and I don’t know what to do.”

Sid nodded softly. He and Nate would always end up this way – being secretive before spilling their guts to one another. “June’s already been engaged. I don’t know if she’d ever want to do that again. And to do that with me. I mean I know—I know we’ve known each other forever, but nowadays, being with Sidney Crosby means something a hell of a lot different than if I was just some guy from Cole Harbour.”

Nate nodded his head now too, completely understanding where Sid was coming from. But Sid was still so blind, and Nate wanted to open his eyes. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Of course.”

“She’s always been with Sidney Crosby, bro. From Shattuck to Rimouski to the Penguins and the gold medals, she’s always been with you. I don’t think your question should be if she wants to do it with you. I think she has been doing it with you and will always do it with you no matter what. It’s just up to you guys to have that conversation about your future together.”

Fucking hell, Nate was right. He was exactly right. How could he be so dead-on about something? Sidney wondered what he and June looked like to outside eyes if this was the opinion of the majority of people around them. Did everybody think this? Was everyone just waiting on baited breath until they got together? “Since when did you get so mature?” he asked Nate,

“Since I started hanging out with you, bro.”

***

June said she was working late again tonight. So Sidney had a plan.

Late lessons meant that lights would be on in the studio. It meant June’s car would be in the parking lot. It meant that he’d see a parent’s car dropping off their daughter and coming back after however long to pick her up. It meant that Sidney was in his car across the street watching and waiting to see if all that happened.

It didn’t.

Once the lesson was over, parents did come to pick up their daughters. But nobody returned. Not after an hour. Not after two hours. Not even after three hours. It was only June’s car in the parking lot for the entire night – nobody else came or went, not even a cleaning crew. That’s when Sidney knew something was up, and that’s when he knew he needed to get to the bottom of it tonight.

When he saw from across the street that the lights in the studio were starting to be turned off, he got out of his car and walked across the street. When he saw June emerge, locking the front door behind her, he approached. “Junebug,” he called out her nickname so she wouldn’t get startled and scream.

She still jumped at the sound of her nickname. She looked up, clearly shocked to see him there. “Sid? What are you doing here?”

“You told me you had extra lessons,” he said. He didn’t want to make this too confrontational, but he knew that if he didn’t press things, he wouldn’t get anything out of her. “I saw everybody leave and then nobody came back.”

“You were watching?”

“I—right across the street,” he pointed over to his Range Rover in the parking lot across from them. “You’ve been acting funny and now all of a sudden you’re supposedly giving extra lessons when I know you want these girls to live a normal life outside of ballet. Why’d you lie to me, Junebug?”

June let out a sigh. She’d been caught – and of course she’d been caught, because her best friend in the entire universe was Sidney fucking Crosby. “Sid, it’s not what you think it is.”

“Really? Because I’m thinking you’re keeping a big secret from me, and we never keep secrets from each other.”

“Sid, I—”

Suddenly, it hit him. “Do you have a secret boyfriend you’re not telling me about?”

“Oh my GOD Sidney,” June rolled her eyes like she was a fourteen-year-old girl again. Why on God’s green Earth Sidney would ever think she’d get a boyfriend and hide him was a mystery to her. “I do not have a secret boyfriend and you know that.”

“Then what’s going on? Were you seeing anyone in there?”

“I wasn’t seeing—UGH!!!” she let out a loud, slightly angry, and exasperated groan at his jumping to conclusions. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down – so did Sid, waiting for her to answer for her secretive behaviour. She didn’t – couldn’t – even look him in the eye as she mustered up the courage to reveal to him what she’d been doing. She didn’t know what reaction to expect from him. “I’m dancing again, Sid,” she finally revealed.

He was shocked. June watched as his jaw dropped slightly, but he must have been aware, because he picked it right back up after a few moments. “You—you’re dancing again?”

“Yes. After the girls leave I just—I just sort of dance alone in the studio.”

Sidney felt so stupid that he accused her of having a boyfriend now. This was not what he was expecting given what had happened to her. “I can’t believe it,” he didn’t know what else to say. “I—pointe shoes and everything?”

“Mhm. Pointe shoes and everything,” she used his words, nodding her head slightly as looking down at her feet. “I’m just seeing if I can do it again. The pointe, I mean. And the movements and variations and grand pas and all that. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to become a professional dancer again or anything—”

“You’re still a professional dancer, Junebug,” he interrupted, his voice soft. “Nothing or no-one will take that away from you.”

June didn’t respond, looking away after Sidney’s words. If she did look at him, she was sure she would burst into tears. “Anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing. Not off gallivanting with some secret boyfriend.”

Sidney felt like an idiot. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“Can I watch you one day?”

June’s eyes focused on his. He’d seen her dance countless times before, but they had all been when she was in the National Ballet of Canada and their company. Every time he’d seen her, she’d been at the top of her game. She hadn’t danced in a proper ballet since her injury, obviously, and though she knew Sidney wouldn’t have an ounce of judgement in him, she didn’t know if she was prepared for him to see her dance after not dancing for almost six years. Especially since he was still at the top of his game, so talented and gifted despite his age. To her, he still played like a 21-year-old when he won his first Cup. The things he did on the ice still inspired her. Though she was still surrounded by ballet in her every day life, their situations were vastly different. “Maybe one day,” she said hopefully. She knew she would have to fight for the courage.

Sidney understood. June took a lot of pride in what she did. He bit his bottom lip slightly. “When you are ready to let me watch, can you tell me?”

“Of course.”

“Promise?”

God, she was going to kill him. Not only had she and Nate exchanged numbers after walking along the Halifax harbourfront after their dinner, but they’d been texting non-stop. Even worse, they’d send each other pictures of Juno and Cox looking cute or doing stupid stuff. Even worse, they’d been going for lunches together almost every day since. Sorcha could count only twice in two weeks that Nate couldn’t do lunch because he was working out with Sidney Crosby or had some other prior commitment to do with hockey. Otherwise, Sorcha was out with him at a new restaurant every day. One day, it was even another dinner. Sorcha couldn’t believe what was happening, but she wasn’t exactly doing anything to push him away. Instead, she was smiling down at her phone. Fuck.

“Whose got you smiling?” Sorcha’s boss, Janet, asked as she saw Sorcha’s smile.

“No-one.”

“Oh come on, Sorcha.”

“It’s Victoria,” Sorcha covered, because she mentioned Victoria a lot and Janet knew who Victoria was and there was no way that anybody, let alone Janet, was going to learn that it was Nathan MacKinnon texting her and making her smile. The only person who knew was Victoria. Not even her parents knew, because they didn’t have to. Nobody had to. “She sent me a funny meme.”

“Can I see the funny meme?”

Sorcha tried not to roll her eyes as she swiped quickly to get to hers and Victoria’s Instagram messages, the last of which was Victoria sending her a reel of a shiba sitting at a bar yelping at a bartender for “cutting him off” from the empty pint glass in front of him. Janet cracked a smile as she watched the video before Sorcha pulled her phone back. “Hilarious and cute, right?” Sorcha offered.

“I know you’re lying.”

Sorcha saw another text coming in from Nate.

what would u do if sid came to lunch?

I’d kill you in your sleep, Nathan.

***

“What do you think of the headband?” Sorcha asked as she FaceTimed with Victoria, modeling her new purchase for her best friend. “Do you think it’s too much?”

“Of course not!” Victoria said. “It’s really pretty. The sheer volume of your hair tones it down a bit, anyway. And besides, it’s black velvet and pearls. It’s very classic. It’s not like it’s super loud.”

“I want to wear it with that black dress that has the pencil skirt,” Sorcha mentioned. “You know, the classic all black outfit with pearls.”

“It’ll look good. But what about with a high, tight ballerina bun? I think that would look really chic, don’t you think?”

Sorcha wasn’t thinking. She only really heard Victoria speak, but she wasn’t listening. A text had come through from Nate and it covered the top part of Victoria’s face.

this reminds me of u

Sorcha had always maintained that someone sending “This reminded me of you” was one of the nicest, most sentimental, sincere, earnest, and heartfelt things to send to another person. It had just happened to her, now, with Nathan MacKinnon. “Uh, w—what was that? You broke up a bit,” she tried to cover, tapping on the notification and being led to their text history. He’d sent her a picture of a meme.

Sorcha snorted. She typed quickly, hoping it wouldn’t be noticeable.

how did you even find that lmfao

“What’s funny?” Victoria asked.

“N-Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Sorcha tried to cover.

Victoria eyed her suspiciously. She saw the look on Sorcha’s face and slowly, yet somehow all at once, it hit her. “Oh my God, did Nate text you?”

“No.”

“Buuuuuullshiiiiiit!” she screamed, her voice even cracking slightly. “You can’t fool me, bitch.”

Sorcha couldn’t get anything past Victoria. She should have known better. “He sent me a meme he said reminded him of me,” she revealed. “It was about art curating.”

“Oh my Goooddd,” Victoria practically gagged. “He’s really turning on the charm for you, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know if he’s turned it on or if he just, like, has it naturally,” Sorcha admitted – she hated to.

She watched as Victoria’s eyebrows furrowed through the screen. “Are we…are we talking about the same Nathan MacKinnon? Like, we are talking about the same Nathan MacKinnon that never said a fucking word to all of his friends that bullied you, right?”

“Right. That’s the one. That’s the Nathan MacKinnon,” Sorcha sounded like she had her tail between her legs.

“I don’t quite know what’s going on between you two, but God would I love to see,” Victoria commented.

“You two interacting together would be just an absolute delight,” Sorcha said sarcastically. Victoria wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut about what Nate did (or didn’t?) do to her in high school. If Victoria saw Shane, Sorcha was sure she’d buy a crossbow and shoot him between the eyes. “Too bad he’ll probably be back in Denver by the time you visit.”

***

“Good girl, Juno! Good fetch!” Sorcha cooed as she scratched behind Juno’s ears. Juno was eager for the ball to be thrown again, even barking at Sorcha for taking too long. Sorcha had a decent arm, so she threw it as far as she could across the park, watching Juno bolt towards it before grabbing it in her mouth and bringing it back. “What a good girl you are Juno!”

BARK!

Sorcha felt her phone buzz in her pocket as she threw the ball again. She got it out to read the text. She already knew who it was from.

she’s adorable can’t believe u trained her to twirl cox can’t even do that

Sorcha couldn’t help but smile as she began typing.

It was a lot of work. Probably overfed her on the treats trying to do it, but now she does it easily.

BARK!

i’m trying to train cox on how to get me beer from the fridge

Of course you are.

BARK! BARK!

Are you gonna teach him how to make you lunch too?

german shepherds are supposed to be smart dogs! i bet he could

BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!!!

“Okay okay okay!” Sorcha felt guilty not paying attention to Juno, seeing the bright green ball had been dropped by her feet. Juno was looking up at her in absolute disgust. “I know, okay? I’m a bad owner, you impatient little gremlin,” she grumbled.

***

Sidney Crosby liked a good workout just like any other athlete, but Nate loved them more. With how seriously he took his diet, nutrition, and fitness, Sidney was never surprised when Nate was completely zoned in. He was especially not surprised when the ultra-competitive side of Nate came out and he got angry at losing a race or something else when they made their workouts a competition. That’s why, now, it was quite perplexing to see him pay more attention to his phone than he was the pylons for his lateral movement training. “Who’s keeping you on your phone?” Sid asked suddenly.

Sid clearly caught Nate off guard. He looked up quickly, pretending that he hadn’t just spent the last few seconds staring at his phone screen and smiling. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Sid pressed.

“It’s nothing. Just drop it.”

“Stop pretending it’s nothing.”

“Not pretending.”

“Then why were you smiling?”

“God, what are you, a private investigator?”

“Detective Crosby at your service. Come on, man. Is it a girl?”

“No.”

“Is it a guy?”

“No.”

“Is it—”

“—Sid, I’m asking you nicely. Please drop it.”

Sid dropped it. But he’d take that ‘Detective Crosby’ to heart and figure out what the hell was going on.

***

“I’m going to have to Google who all these people are,” Sorcha smiled, feeling slightly overwhelmed with all the teammates Nate was naming and telling her stories about from the Colorado Avalanche. “How do you spell—what was the first guy’s name? Your captain?”

“Gabe Landeskog,” Nate repeated. “His nickname is Gabe the Babe. That tells you all you need to know.”

“And the other one?”

“Andre Burakovsky.”

“And the —”

“—Mikko Rantanen, the Finnish one,” he already knew.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to visit Finland,” she joked. “Happiest country in the world and all that.”

“Mikko shows us pictures all the time. It looks incredible, but Nova Scotia’s prettier,” Nate said.

Sorcha couldn’t help but smile. For a guy who travelled all around North America for hockey, and even sometimes Europe, she loved how Nate still loved Nova Scotia best. At its core, Nova Scotia was home, and nothing could beat home. The oldest city in Europe or the prettiest buildings in Scandinavia still couldn’t warm Nate like Nova Scotia could. Sorcha appreciated that in him. It showed a true love – nothing artificial about it. And as they walked along the old streets of downtown after yet another one of their lunches, Sorcha completely understood where he was coming from and agreed with him. “Yeah. Nothing beats a Nova Scotia sunset.”

Nate nodded but stayed silent, making sure to look over at Sorcha as they continued to walk towards the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia. When they jaywalked across the street towards the now-all-too-familiar steps and Nate knew his time left with her was short, he cleared his throat and got ready. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah of course,” she looked up at him, adjusting her purse on her shoulder.

He took a deep breath. “You—I don’t know what you’re doing this weekend, but I’m having a couple friends up at my place on Grand Lake. You wanna come? I’m driving up tomorrow – Friday night.”

They had been having such a great time together the past couple of weeks. There had been lots of catching up, stories, laughter, and more. Surely she’d want to come to his house? Surely she’d want to spend more time with him outside of the city, on the lake? Surely she’d—

“No.”

Nate was taken aback by her quick, blunt response. There was a moment of shock where he just looked at her, almost as if he thought she was joking, or maybe he wasn’t hearing straight – but no. She was completely serious. Harsh and quick. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, even shaking her head this time.

Nate furrowed his brows. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“Because I don’t,” Sorcha stressed. “Because I can’t leave Juno for the night.”

“Do you honestly think I’m gonna invite you to my place and not allow you to bring your dog?” Nathan asked. “It’s not a big deal if you bring Juno.”

“I’m not coming,” Sorcha said again. “I’m not coming and I don’t have to give you a reason. No is a complete sentence.”

Nate couldn’t help but feel the anger boil up inside of him. He was getting more frustrated by the minute at her rejection. “What the hell, Sorcha?”

“What the hell Sorcha? What the hell Nathan,” she retorted. “Why are you even inviting me? What are you—what’s the game here?”

“Game? Sorcha, what the hell is wrong with you? What do you mean what game? There is no game,” Nate shot back.

“Don’t ask what the hell is wrong with me,” she replied sternly. “I don’t need that asked of me anymore, especially after you and your friends made so much wrong with me for more than half my life.”

The words would have stung, but Nate’s stubbornness acted like an armour. He barely registered what she’d said. “I’m inviting you because you’re my friend. We’re friends, Sorcha. Friends invite their friends to their house. It’s a normal thing to do.”

“Oh, we’re friends now?”

“What the hell have we been doing the past couple of weeks?!” Nate’s voice was getting louder. “What have we been doing every lunch, every dinner, every walk we’ve gone on? What are we if we’re not friends? Why won’t you come, Sorcha?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

“But why?!”

“Because I don’t want to!!! Now will you please just go?”

“Not until you—”

“—God Nathan, will you please just accept that I’m not going to your fucking house on the fucking lake?!” Sorcha was practically screaming now. “I know you’re not used to anybody saying no to you, let alone a woman, but you’ve gotta get it through your thick skull. The answer is no.”

Okay, Nate was angry. She was being defensive and distrustful when all he’d been was trustful and open with her the entire time they’d been meeting up. He’d given her absolutely zero reason to have any reservations or to act this way. He was confused more than anything, and his confusion manifested itself in anger. He thought everything was okay. He thought they’d gotten over the metaphorical hump. “Fuck this. Now you’re just offending me.”

“Maybe I’m just an offensive person,” she played along.

“You know what, whatever Sorcha,” Nate gave up, throwing his hands up in defeat before taking a step back. “I thought we were friends.”

“Guess not.”

“Bet you’re happy about that. One less uncultured hockey player you’ve gotta explain an Arthur Lismer painting to,” he said before turning his back to her and walking away, not bothering to glance back.

Nate could feel how red his cheeks were with anger. He could feel every electric volt in his body explode as he marched up the street, huffing and shaking his head. He could hear Sorcha’s voice echo in his mind as he approached his car. He slammed the door shut, turned it on, and gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He stayed that way the entire drive, speeding through the streets of downtown, wanting to leave the city and everything he associated with Sorcha as quickly as possible.

***

The same Friday that Nathan had invited her to his house, Sorcha cuddled up on her couch with Juno watching Netflix and eating extra buttery popcorn. There was no way and no possibility that she even gave one single thought to Nathan MacKinnon or his house or the lake or anything else to do with him. Nope. Not one. Nothing. Zip. Nada.

Nope. Not her.

Concentration for whatever was playing on Netflix was proving hard since she kept glancing at her phone every other minute. Usually, it would be lit up or buzzing thanks to hers and Nate’s near constant texts back and forth, but for the first time in weeks, it was silent.

Okay, so maybe it was slightly her fault. Maybe she reacted too harshly upon his invitation to spend some time at his house. Maybe her comments and overly confident attitude that he was trying to pull a fast one on her wrecked the entire situation. That was entirely plausible. But she wasn’t completely in the wrong, and she refused to have all of the blame put on her. What was Nathan thinking inviting her to his house in the first place? While his buddies were there, too! She couldn’t think of a more unappealing Friday night. Spend a night at an isolated house on the lake with people that bullied her and made her life a living hell? She probably would have drowned herself.

That’s where Nathan should have known better. He should have known that she wouldn’t want to go, especially when his friends would be there. Why would she want to spend time with those people? Just because she was friends with him now, and had forgiven him, and had put everything concerning them in the past as opposed to keeping it in the present – none of that meant she forgave everyone else. Nate kept saying that she wasn’t the same girl that she was back in elementary and high school – and she wasn’t. She had the confidence now to say no, to not put herself in those situations. Moreover, she had the confidence to know she deserved better and to not be around those people. In no way, shape, or form was she going to expose herself to them if she didn’t need to. It wasn’t about her thinking she shouldn’t be there, or didn’t deserve to be there – it was about having the confidence in making the decision that was healthy for her.

Sorcha wished Nate saw it that way, and wished he knew better. She wished they hadn’t responded to each other in such anger.

***

Nate couldn’t remember how many beers deep he was, or how long the rap music had been playing, but he knew one thing: he wished Sorcha was here.

After their fight, Nate had gotten into his car and headed straight for his house. He was angry the entire time up, angry the entire rest of the day, and was still angry now. Getting angry at each other was one thing, but blowing up on each other was something different – and they definitely blew up at each other. He didn’t know why she wouldn’t want to come. He thought they had made such progress in the two or so weeks that they’d been hanging out. He thought they had become genuine friends and had put their past behind them, which is what he wanted. Apparently not. Apparently, Sorcha thought and felt differently. He wished he knew why, because he wanted to spend more time with her. And because…because, well…

“Dude!” Shane’s voice rung out in the room to no-one in particular. Nate looked up to see him wearing his stupid bucket hat and holding a red solo cup. “Where’s the Grey Goose? I need some more fuckin’ Grey Goose!”

Nate scowled from the couch. Shane wasn’t even supposed to be here. He was such a fucking idiot. He tagged along with his cousin again, and Nate was too nice to say that he wasn’t allowed in. But fuck was he annoying. Nate wished he had a level less of the infamous east coast hospitality so he didn’t have to deal with Shane’s shit.

“Remember when you used to pour this stuff directly down my throat?” Shane asked Noah.

“Yeah, and remember when your head would be in the toilet seat an hour later?” Noah clapped back.

Nate thought back to the high school parties he attended. He never did much, because he took hockey way too seriously, but he watched others, and he heard stories when he was debriefed the following Monday at school. Who said what. Who hooked up with who. Who wanted to hook up with who. It was all a game that he played into only sometimes, because he had better things to play into. Shane drank like a fiend. Alex was definitely the biggest Casanova in the grade. Nathan would sit back and watch. He’d listen, mostly.

Loud rap music was playing in Holly’s basement – something from Ja Rule, which Nate didn’t particularly like because it was so dated. He wished someone would commandeer the iPod and play some better music. He had half the mind to do it himself with the new iPod he got for Christmas. There were already over 2000 songs uploaded on it. Wearing one of his Mooseheads sweaters and jeans, he sipped on his water bottle.

“Holy shit, feels like every girl in the grade is down here,” Alex commented as he looked around the basement. It definitely felt true, Nate thought.

“Yeah, all except for one,” Shane huffed. “But if The Orca showed up nobody else would fit in the house.”

Everybody around Nate laughed – loud and boisterous and in agreement. Even Nate.

*

Nate had gotten into English class early, and sat down in his seat before all his friends surrounded him like they were in a teen movie from the early noughties. If Nate was the sun, his friends, teammates, and classmates were the planets, constantly revolving around him. Lucas was trying to scarf down his lunch sandwich even though it was only second period. Noah wasn’t doing much of anything – typical – and Alex was waiting for Nate to say something, anything, that he could respond to.

“Did you ask Jessalyn to the dance yet?” Lucas asked, mouth full of bread and baloney.

“Nah,” Nate shook his head. Every girl in the grade wanted him to ask them to the dance.

“Dude, she’s, like, waiting.”

“Yeah, well…” Nate rolled his eyes. At that moment, a figure walking into the classroom caught his eye. Sorcha Saint-Coeur. She sat at the front, making it hard for Nate to see the board through all her curly hair unless he sat up in his seat. It was annoying. Her best friend Victoria was in this class too, and sat beside her at the front, but she was away judging by her absence in first period math.

Shane caught Nate’s eye wandering and spoke up, loud enough for Sorcha to hear at the front, though the boys were congregated near the back. “What do you guys think enters a room first? Sorcha’s fat or her hair?”

Everybody snickered. Even Nate did. Sorcha didn’t even look back; she was used to it, and she knew exactly who it was coming from. She stayed still for a moment, internalizing the words before digging into her bag to get out her binder and the novel she was reading for their independent study unit – One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. While she was reading a novel most of her classmates would be exposed to for the first time in university as a girl in grade eleven, she was sure Shane Johnson couldn’t even read a book unless it had pop-up pictures in it. But that didn’t matter to him. He was in with the hockey boys, because of his cousin, and that made him cool. He didn’t need to worry about anything because he was in. So it was easy to understand why he was such a dick: he was enabled by everyone around him.

“I say fat,” Lucas chirped. “That gut sticks out, dude.”

“I say hair,” Shane said. “She could shave it bald but then she’d have a fat head too, just like the rest of her.”

*

“You do it!”

“No you do it!”

“No you do it!!”

“You!”

“You!”

Snickers. Hands covering mouths. All seventh-grade Sorcha was doing was sketching in her sketchbook. “Psst,” Noah hissed. When she didn’t answer, he just hissed louder. “Pssssttt!” She looked up, bracing herself for whatever he was going to say. “So are the rumours true? You tried to get lipo but there was so much fat the doctor couldn’t suck all of it out?”

“I heard there was so much at the hospital the nurses had trouble carrying the buckets of fat out,” Shane added.

“I heard your step-dad even tried paying the doctor to suck more fat out but there was just way too much,” Noah continued.

“Are your mom and step-dad gonna get divorced now? Didn’t they get married because Doctor D promised your mom he’d suck the fat out of you and now he can’t? So you’re gonna be the reason they get divorced?” Shane egged it on.

“Why won’t you just leave me alone!!!” Sorcha hissed loudly as she slammed her book shut and ran away from them.

Nate sat in between Noah and Shane and watched the whole thing.

They were monsters, Nate thought. All of them.

Even himself.

How could they not be disgusted with themselves? How could they go on living their lives knowing they had treated someone so brutally? How could any of them be living a normal life knowing the pain they caused another person? Nate felt like there were spiders crawling under his skin. He was so skeeved from the memories that he had to put his beer down and get up from his seat to take a walk. If he sat listening to Shane any longer, he would explode – and he didn’t want to. Well, not half-drunk, anyway. Sober was a different story. But it was still awful hearing him, and Nate wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

While everyone else at his house wasn’t paying attention, Nate disappeared into his room and locked the door behind him. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he took his phone out of his pocket, swiping through his contacts and clicking on the only person he wanted to speak to at the moment.

He didn’t know if she’d even pick up. They’d been so mean to each other. But he hoped for the best.

The phone rang for a while. For a brief second, he remembered that he hadn’t even checked the time before he called. It could have been three o’clock in the morning for all he knew. Fucking hell. He didn’t think this through thanks to all the beer and now—

“Hello?”

He was shocked to hear her voice on the other end. She picked up. She had actually picked up. Unprepared, and sobering up really fucking quickly all of the sudden, Nate was silent for a few moments.

“Nate?”

“We were fucking monsters to you,” he said, his voice low, and deep, but raw, and honest. “Fucking monsters.”

Sorcha stayed silents for a few moments too. “Yeah. You were,” she agreed.

“That’s why you didn’t want to come.”

Sorcha couldn’t believe it was two in the morning, that she was still up, and that she was having this conversation with Nate. She couldn’t believe he realized the reason behind her choice, either. “Exactly,” she said.

Nate felt like complete shit. He’d treated her so horribly and practically yelled at her in front of her place of employment and he was just shit, shit, shit all around. He was shit all those years ago for not speaking up and defending her against bullying and harassment and he was shit now for not realizing she didn’t want to expose herself to that again and only thinking about himself. He was being selfish in a situation that needed selflessness. “God Sorcha, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so—I’m fucking—God,” he was exasperated, unable to find the words.

“I told you that I forgave you a long time ago, Nate,” Sorcha said. It was easy enough to hear the pain in his voice. “You don’t need to keep apologizing to me.”

“But I think I do,” he admitted. “I just—I remembered the lipo rumours from grade seven—”

“—Nate—”

“—Shane and his—the orca comments—”

“Nate, please stop,” Sorcha’s voice was the perfect mixture of soft yet firm. “If I can leave those in the past, so can you.”

“This whole time that we’ve been talking, Sorsh, and reconnecting, I just—I sat there tonight surrounded by all these people and I should have been happy because they’re all my friends and my buddies I’ve known for years but all I could think about is you,” he admitted. “I miss you, Sorcha.”

The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. She bit her bottom lip so hard she could have almost drawn blood. “You’re treading on very dangerous territory when you say something like that, Nate.”

“So what if I am?”

“You’ve gotta understand the magnitude of those words.”

“Because I mean it,” he affirmed. “I miss you. I want to spend time with you.”

Sorcha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Here she was on a phone call with Nathan MacKinnon at two in the morning where he was confessing missing her, wanting to spend time with her. The entire universe could have been sucked into a supermassive black hole and collapsed, all molecular life gone with it, and Sorcha still would have bet on that having a greater chance of happening than Nate saying those words to her, admitting what he was admitting to her. She was shocked, but at the same time…

…it was so easy for her to give in.

And it shouldn’t have been that easy. There should have been more resistance from her. More walls that Nate would have to tear down. But he already did in the last couple of weeks, one by one, dinner by dinner, lunch by lunch, and that’s why this decision was so easy. That’s why she allowed herself to feel good about this. She deserved it – the kind words, the lovely sentiments, the attention, the texts, the memes, the late night phone calls, the ‘I miss you’s and ‘I want to spend time with you’s. She deserved it all. And she was going to take it.

“Hey Nate?” she asked.

“Sorsh?” he was scared she was going to follow up with an emphatic go fuck yourself.

“How’d you know who Arthur Lismer was?” she asked.

“You talked about him that one time during dinner. How he painted a bunch of stuff of the Halifax Harbour and the warships. Seascape 1919 is your favourite painting,” he said. As the sentence progressed along every word, he could practically feel Sorcha smiling through the phone. It put his mind and body at ease, so much ease. “I listen to you when you talk, you know.”

Well that was apparent now. Sorcha was smiling from ear to ear in her bed in Halifax. “Nate?”

“Sorsh?” his voice was so hopeful.

“You wanna grab a coffee on Monday?”

“Please.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know where to meet me.”

“We can talk things over. Face to face,” he offered.

“Yeah. We will. Have a good night,” she said.

“Sweet dreams, Sorcha,” were Nate’s last words to her before they ended the call. Nate sat on his bed looking down at the screen, willing Sorcha to appear somewhere in the room.

Sorcha put her phone back on her nightstand, taking a deep breath in before laying down in her bed again and staring straight up at the ceiling.

Daisy heard the front door open and the loud conversation between Jack and Ty cut off suddenly, presumably as they took in how dark the apartment was. She managed to sit up in bed, resting weakly against some pillows and be smiling when he peeked his head into their bedroom.

He didn’t look convinced.

He sat down on the mattress beside her, crossing his legs and leaning forward to press his hand to her forehead—she wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell if she had a temperature but she appreciated the gesture.

“Have you gotten out of bed at all since I left?”

Daisy shrugged, saying, “It’s been less than 12 hours.”

“Yeah, but it’s already been two days and that’s two more days than you should have been in bed.”

“I don’t have any energy,” Daisy sighed, slumping back down into the pillows. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I haven’t been this sick in years.”

“I’m gonna call the doctor and try get you an appointment for tomorrow. You should be at least a little better by now.”

Jack helped her move down so that she was back under the covers, moving around enough so that he could tuck the covers up under her chin. He kissed her forehead, ignoring her protests that she didn’t want to get him sick, too. He wasn’t worried about it, though, because she didn’t have any obviously contagious symptoms and hadn’t even when she first started feeling unwell.

There was a conversation about what she’d eaten—crackers, but even they were tough to keep down—and the worry across Jack’s face was worse than she’d seen in years.

She made him go out to get her a glass of water and some more crackers, just so he would be distracted, and also asked him to send Ty in to say hello if only because they were both her boys and she needed the normality of Ty’s Roadie Recap even if they’d just ventured to MSG for the day.

Daisy didn’t hate doctors in a crunchy-mom sort of way, but, as much as she understood why they were necessary and that they were the quickest way to work out what was wrong, she didn’t like them.

Her memories of the hospital visits to see her mom weren’t vivid—a combination of her young age and ability to repress memories meant all hospitals blended together in a haze of sterile white walls and antiseptic and the ending nobody wanted—though it was the aura and the associated memories that did her in.

And it all came rushing back even when she was just heading into a doctor’s surgery.

None of it was very pleasant, especially not when she was already regretting even getting out of bed.

Still, she managed her way through a polite chat with the nurse, explained what was going on and was asked approximately a million questions while her vitals were taken. It was just like every time she showed up for a new prescription for the pill, only the nurse was making a few curious noises that Daisy wasn’t used to.

If only she had the energy to care.

Daisy didn’t hate doctors but she did hate how long they made her wait.

She was nearly falling asleep in the waiting room chair when her name was finally called by her usual doctor—a middle aged man with a terse demeanour who she’d found when she first moved to New Jersey and hadn’t ever left because he prescribed her what she needed without too much hassle. A smile wouldn’t kill him, though.

They went through the same conversation she had with the nurse, that she’d spent the previous two days in bed and a few days before that hardly able to keep food down.

“The nurse said that you didn’t get your period last month so I need to ask: is there any possibility that you could be pregnant, Daisy?”

“No,” Daisy said quickly, then hesitated and added, wide eyed and high pitched, “Well, I mean yes but we’re so careful about protection. Like we don’t have sex if there’s no condoms left and I’m also on the pill like—I can’t be pregnant.”

“To rule it out and for peace of mind, I’d like to do a test. You can take this jar to the bathroom right now and we can know in a few minutes, or I can draw some blood but that might take a couple of days to get a result back.”

“I’ll go pee,” Daisy whispered, picking up the small jar and taking a steadying breath. “It’ll kill me if I have to wait.”

She also wanted to talk to Jack and didn’t want to have to wait for the doctor to draw blood. Her phone was out of her pocket before she’d even left the room, her lip quivering. She kept her head low as she walked to the bathroom and could feel the rattle in her breath when Jack picked up.

“Are you done already?”

“Jack, he thinks I could be pregnant.”

“He always throws that out there as a suggestion, though,” Jack countered easily. “You come and tell me he’s said that after every appointment.”

Daisy wanted to be able to laugh about it, about how he’d asked her if she could be pregnant when she walked in with a poison ivy rash on her arm all because she regularly used the pill to skip her period entirely—and when she didn’t skip it, it didn’t always come.

Daisy put the jar down on the counter in the bathroom, staring at it as she whispered, “This time he’s making me pee in a cup.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well…  we can deal with that,” Jack said, the calmness in his voice so unbearably fake that Daisy let a tear fall. He sounded less fake, more determined, when he added, “You won’t be, anyway.”

Daisy did laugh then, weak and wet, wondering if she could actually just will herself to not be. She whispered, “I hope not,” into the phone and her reflection in the mirror.

“It’s gonna be okay, Daze.”

Daisy looked down at the jar again, sighing.

“I have to pee now,” she said solemnly, smiling a little at Jack’s abrupt laugh. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Call me when you’re done. Either way. I love you.”

Daisy agreed, if only because Jack sounded desperate.

The house was eerily dark and quiet, the boisterousness she usually encountered when she walked through the door missing as if the boys were on a road trip and it was unsettling knowing that they weren’t and should have been back from practice.

Jack was waiting quietly by the front door; Ty was nowhere to be seen.

Daisy wanted to go to bed, she wanted to cry, she wanted to vomit and it looked like Jack might’ve been in the same boat. She couldn’t remember a time he’d been so pale.

He reached out to touch her, his fingers barely brushing over her hips before Daisy was taking three steps back with her arms stiff by her sides.

“Please don’t touch me.”

“Daisy…” Jack said cautiously, his face turning a murky grey.

Daisy sighed, blinking back tears, “It’s not—I worked so hard to get past that and to change how I think but I—Jack, I don’t even want to touch my own stomach right now.”

“It’s not?” He didn’t sound as if he believed her, and she couldn’t fault him for that—not when he’d heard the same thing, that she’d beaten the bulimia, and soon after seen the exact opposite.

“It feels a lot like it, but it’s got nothing to do with what I’ve eaten or—” she inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly. “I really don’t want to be pregnant right now, Jack.”

Jack’s nod was instantaneous and his steps towards her slow. He kept his hands by his own side, letting her know that he wasn’t trying to touch her waist in any way, and Daisy sighed shakily when his forehead touched hers.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice also shaky. “You’ve got school and a plan that doesn’t involve a baby for a few more years.”

Another shaky sigh left her lips as she asked what she’d been dreading to ask the entire drive home, “Do you want to keep it?”

“No? I want you to get to do what you’ve planned and I’m gone a lot so I won’t even be around to help with a baby. And I like our life right now. I’m not ready for a kid.”

Daisy’s vision blurred entirely, and her shaky breathing turned into a full body sob as she collapsed into Jack. He was ready, though, his arms wrapping tightly around her shoulders, a hand cradling her head.

The first thing Daisy did when she woke up the next morning was schedule an appointment online. She didn’t want to wait any longer than she absolutely had to—though that did mean having to schedule around Jack’s games.

He was laying right next to her on the bed as she used her laptop with shaking hands and puffy eyelids. She looked to him before she finalised it, another check that he agreed with the decision being made, and then pushed her laptop onto her cluttered bedside table—not bothered by the things she heard falling to the floor—and buried herself underneath the duvet.

“I’m not going to tell my dad,” she muttered when Jack was buried underneath them with her, the duvet pulled over their heads. “He doesn’t need to know.”

Jack frowned. “Do I tell my folks? Mom’s going to kill me. I’ve got like one big responsibility and it’s to not accidentally get you pregnant and I fucked it up.”

“This is a freak accident,” Daisy assured him, wetness still present in her voice. “If you want to tell them then you should. You can, if you’re asking permission.”

He touched her face—he was being very careful to not accidentally touch her waist or stomach even if he normally would have pulled her closer that way—and kissed her forehead.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll tell her after. If I tell anyone else…” Jack trailed off.

Ty was the only person they’d told—a by-product of living with him and explaining to him why he’d been booted out so quickly and why there was a heaviness in the house that had never been there before.

Brie—Dougie’s partner—would find out soon enough because Jack planned on calling her to keep Daisy company while he had to play a game against St. Louis.

Daisy offered, to finish his thought, “It might be too real?”

“It’s already pretty real.”

“Yeah, Jack, it’s really real.”

Jack got home after the game, saying goodbye to Brie who had sat on the couch with Daisy to watch the Devils defeated the Blues, and bundled Daisy towards their bedroom without much fanfare other than Daisy stopping to greet Ty and congratulate him on his goal.

It was the happiest she’d been since she started to feel off-colour, a glimmer of hope and return to normal when she’d launched herself off the couch in glee. She told Ty as much as she hugged him tightly.

Jack was smiling at her when she joined him in their room.

“So,” Daisy said, using her renewed vigour to kneel on the bed and talk as Jack changed out of his suit, “I did some research into Judaism and abortions.”

Jack paused halfway through removing his jacket, getting stuck momentarily, and said slowly, “You didn’t have to.”

Daisy shrugged, trying to play nonchalant so she wouldn’t lose her ability to have the conversation, and continued, “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t condemning you to eternal hell or purgatory or whatever.”

Recovering and seemingly understanding Daisy’s need for the conversation to continue at a relatively fast and causal pace, he told her, while still undressing, “Neither of those really exist in Judaism.”

“Oh, well, it wouldn’t matter anyway because Reform Judaism is really cool about it? They’re really into it being the woman’s choice to decide. And while they don’t really want you to just have abortions for fun—which nobody is doing, obviously, despite what the whack jobs think—it’s not a giant unforgivable sin.”

“That’s… good,” Jack said, thinking through what she had said, and taking in the relief it had brought to her face. He reminded her, gently, “Daisy, you’re not Jewish.”

Daisy laughed, sarcastically, falling onto her back with her legs still tucked underneath her so that she could speak to the ceiling.

“Well, my religion is going to condemn me to hell and label me a murderer; I just thought I’d make sure at least one of us was safe.” She sat up again, making sure they were making eye contact when she said, “And I’ll probably be Jewish one day, right? Don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”

The softness on Jack’s face was almost like nothing she had ever seen before but it came close to the earnestness in his expression when he’d proposed to her in the Vegas wedding chapel.

“Even if eternal damnation was on the cards for both of us—that doesn’t change anything. Not for me.”

“It doesn’t for me either,” Daisy admitted. “It did make me feel a little bit better, though.”

Jack was skipping practice to take Daisy to her appointment—she’d offered exactly once to have Brie go with her instead and Jack had shut it down.

He’d told Nico that he’d be missing—“I just told him that you had a thing I needed to be there for and he said he hopes you’re okay.”—and Lindy—“He knew what I was talking about. I told him you had an appointment and I had to be there, and he told me he could be discreet if we need any help from him. It was weird. How many guys has he had that conversation with?”

Neither of them cried that day; they were too nervous to do so. They didn’t do much talking, either, but they were never more than an arm’s length from each other from the moment they woke up and that didn’t change until they were at the appointment.

Daisy filled in what felt like truly unholy amounts of paperwork, her shaking hands making her normally perfect handwriting rather illegible. In the seat beside her, Jack was bouncing his me at a million miles a minute and twisting his head around at every noise.

They’d discussed the possibility of Jack being recognised in the conversation about Brie bringing her and, while he acknowledged it as a possibility, he wasn’t going to let it stop him from being there with her.

When she was called into an office, they both sat there and answered questions that Daisy couldn’t remember two seconds after they were asked; Jack answered some when Daisy stalled.

“Do you mind stepping out of the room, Jack?” The nurse asked. “There are some things we need to do that are usually more comfortable without an audience.”

“Uh, yeah. Are you okay with that?” Jack asked, nodding when Daisy nodded up at him. “I think I’m going to call Quinn.”

“That’s a good idea,” Daisy said, feeling a small weight off her shoulders knowing that someone in their family would know.

The nurse explained that they ask partners to leave the room so that they can ask questions that aren’t always well received, or that aren’t always answered truthfully in the presence of a partner. Daisy listened and answered, assuring her repeatedly that Jack hadn’t ever forced her into anything, including the making of the appointment—all she wanted was for Jack to be back and holding her hand.

As they were finally calling Jack back into the room as well as organising the ultrasound technician, Daisy made it clear that she wanted to hear as little from the ultrasound machine as possible. She didn’t want to hear much of what they were saying either.

Neither she nor Jack would see the ultrasound image, or hear much of it, but it was impossible to pretend it wasn’t there.

“Do you—can you tell when, like, conception was?” she asked too loudly for the silence they had been in. “We always use a condom and I’m on the pill so we have no idea when this could have happened.”

“I would probably put it at—” the tech paused for a moment — “the first week of February.”

Daisy’s brow knitted together, her entire face contorting as she tried to think back to when it could possibly have happened, “I don’t—”

“Vegas,” Jack said, interrupting her. He sounded hollow. “I don’t think we used a condom after the wedding.”

She squeezed his hand, already knowing that he was going to take that as a personal failure, and admitted, “I was really bad at taking the pill on time.”

She still is, truthfully, though she was already working out how to be more consistent in taking it.

Jack squeezed her hand right back.

“Do you need time to think about your options?”

“No,” Daisy said immediately. “I’m here for an abortion. We’ve already decided.”

It was hard letting Jack go when they started to prepare her for the surgery. It was the first time she cried all day, clutching his arm and begging them to let him stay with her. Jack wasn’t faring much better despite the strong face he was trying to put on. His attempts at assuring her that she was going to be fine, that he’d be there when she woke up, did little to actually comfort her.

At least the nurse looking after her was there and ready to take Daisy’s other hand, not quite a perfect replacement for Jack but it was better than nothing.

When Daisy did come to, Jack was right there as promised. He looked… relaxed. She felt relaxed. It was quite the contrast from how she’d felt when they pushed the anaesthetic through the IV.

She listened dutifully as she was given instructions on how to look after herself and was happy to hear that she’d be able to get on a plane to Vancouver the next week as long as everything continued to go as smoothly as the procedure had.

“You okay?” Jack asked cautiously when they were left alone.

“Yeah,” Daisy said, a small laugh bubbling out of her. “Was way more scared about being pregnant and now I’m not—so I actually feel really good. You okay?”

Jack nodded, leaning down to kiss her forehead before he wrapped her up in as good a hug as he could manage.

On their way out, some of the relief was lost.

Despite Jack being a strong and firm presence by her side, Daisy could still see and hear the people antagonising her from across the parking lot. She craned her head to get a proper look, but Jack caught her.

“We’ve just gotta get to the car,” Jack said, firmly holding her hand—partly as a source of comfort, but partly to stop her from rushing to meet the protestors face to face.

Daisy groaned, “But they’re assholes and I want to tell them.”

Jack’s laugh was small—he could picture her doing just that quite clearly. “And I’d let you if you hadn’t just been under anaesthetic.”

“They don’t even know what I did in there,” she huffed, unable to tear her eyes away from them. “Maybe I was getting prenatal vitamins.”

“You know they don’t care.”

With all her might, Daisy shouted, “Because they’re assholes!”

Heading back to Planned Parenthood was something Daisy did when she could, knowing that the protestors outside were only getting worse as legislation was changing around the country—as midterm elections were racing closer.

She sat and waited for people to show up and call for an escort, no matter what they were there for, because nobody deserved to walk past the protestors alone.

Daisy met a young woman at her car, dutifully ignoring the heinous things that were shouted in her direction and smiled kindly as the door opened.

“Just don’t stop walking,” Daisy said. “I like your shirt.”

“You’re a Red Wings fan?” the woman asked after looking down to see what shirt she was wearing that day.

“I grew up one, but now I’m more of a Jersey Girl.”

“I know they’ve been bad but I couldn’t imagine changing teams,” the woman said, Daisy could hear the horror in her voice. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, the betrayal in someone’s voice when they found out she’d moved on.

She never took it personally, and it served as a good distraction.

“My fiancé has a vested interest in the team, so I don’t really have a choice. Detroit is still my team in my heart; Seider winning then Calder was the most exciting thing to happen this summer.”

“If anyone else won it I would have fought the NHL.”

“I would have been right there with you,” Daisy agreed. She opened the building's front door and was thankful to drown out the yelling when it closed behind them. She said to the young woman, “And I’ll be right there with you when you leave.”

“Please stop saying his name. Every time you do, I’m reminded of just exactly who he is beyond being a famous hockey player. Please come back to Halifax and get me out of it. I beg you,” Sorcha pleaded into the phone. “I couldn’t say no to him, Vic.”

“Why not? If you keep being reminded of who he was before he became a famous hockey player, then why couldn’t you say no?”

“Because he was so stupidly nice about it!” Sorcha was in pure agony. “How can a guy who was complicit in my bullying for so many years be so…nice?!”

“Beats the shit out of me,” Victoria said. “You have to tell me every single detail of what happens. You know that, right? Like I’m half way to telling you to record the entire dinner as a voice note on your phone so you can send it to me and I can listen to it like a podcast.”

Sorcha rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but laugh at her best friend’s overdramatic and comedic nature. “Yeah, I’m gonna go ahead and say I’m not going to do that, but I’m definitely calling when it’s over,” she agreed. “Never in a million years did I think this would be happening. A billion years – a trillion years! The universe could have collapsed and regenerated itself and I still wouldn’t think this could happen.”

“Do you know what you’re wearing?” Victoria asked suddenly.

“Sort of. Want to help?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

***

Sorcha walked to 2 Doors Down on Barrington Street confident as ever. She was wearing a dark blue floral dress Victoria had helped pick out over FaceTime, semi-opaque tights, a pair of heeled ankle boots, and a leather jacket. Her hair was curled, as it always was these days, with a side part. Her winged liner looked killer. She knew she looked good. It was a confidence she didn’t have in her before, back when she and Nate went to school together. It would be new to him, she thought, seeing her in makeup, in dresses, embracing her curly hair (and actually knowing how to take care of it and style it). He saw glimpses of it in their previous meetings, sure, but Sorcha felt like the more he saw of it, the more it would hammer home that she wasn’t the same person he went to school with, and that if he thought he was reconnecting with that person from all those years ago, he was sorely wrong.

Just like with lunch, Nate was already there. He hadn’t been waiting long – five minutes at most – and when she was led to his table (at the back, of course, in a pretty discreet corner where someone had to go looking for him), she tried not to smile when she saw him smile when he saw her. Nate thought she looked great. Everything just worked. “You’re always early,” she said, draping her cross-body purse over the back of her chair.

Nate shrugged his shoulders playfully. “You’re always late.”

“You said reservations were for 7. It’s…” she stopped, looking at her watch as she sat down in her seat across from him. “It’s 6:58, on the dot.”

“Can I get you two a drink?” the waitress asked.

“I’ll have anything you have from Propeller,” Nate said, referring to the famous craft beer brewed locally.

“I’ll take a jungle bird,” Sorcha ordered a cocktail.

When the waitress walked away, Nate smiled again at Sorcha. He couldn’t believe she was here. Neither could she, if she was being honest. And now that they were alone, with no waitress prying them for drinks, they could get started on whatever this was going to be. “Thanks for coming,” he said.

“Thanks for pestering, I guess,” she joked.

Conversation turned to her work. Sorcha explained what was keeping her busy. The waiter brought them their drinks, and they ordered their dinner – the bone-in pork chop for him, and the rainbow trout noodle bowl for her. Nate spoke to her about his workouts, but it wasn’t nearly as exciting as what she was doing. She encouraged him to take time off – like actual time off. He let her know that wasn’t possible. Nobody makes Team Canada’s Olympic roster by slacking or taking time off.

Sorcha rolled her eyes as she took a bite of her rainbow trout. “Give me a break. I think besides Sidney Crosby you’re the only other shoe-in for Team Canada.”

“McDavid.”

“Okay, so you’re the third shoe-in.”

Nate shook his head. “Nothing is guaranteed. I mean, Sid is Sid.”

“Whatever you say, Nate.”

He took a bite of pork chop and watched as she took another bite of noodle and trout. He felt like he was having dinner with a different person. This wasn’t the Sorcha he remembered at all. She’d made a point when he showed up at the art gallery that he didn’t know her, and she was right – he didn’t. But he at least remembered what she was like. And this Sorcha, sitting across from him, was not the same Sorcha Saint-Coeur from elementary or high school. “You—I…” he didn’t know how to word what he wanted to say. “You’re so different from how I remember you. You’re so…confident.”

“It’s been like, eight years Nate. Obviously people change,” she said.

“No no, I know that. It’s—it’s not coming out right,” he shook his head at himself for not being more articulate. “I mean, like, when I remember you in elementary school and high school, you would like clam up if someone even spoke to you. You wouldn’t say a word to anybody besides Victoria. You’ve gone through, like, a whole transformation. You’ve just become a completely different person.”

Sorcha knew what he was trying to say, however inarticulate he thought he was. “I think I had to,” she admitted, in a voice softer than she’d spoken with before. “I had two options when I left high school – I could have let all the bullying stay with me and keep me how I was, and how you remember me, for the rest of my life…or I could do something about it. I could shed it all off, embrace people who didn’t judge me, take every opportunity that came my way, and live my life the way I wanted to. I obviously chose the latter. And that changed me into the person I am today.

“Why couldn’t that happen in high school though?” he asked.

“Because nobody let me. Everyone who bullied me kept me in a box. More importantly, I didn’t let myself, because of that bullying. It was like a vicious cycle. I thought that the first thing people saw about me was my weight, because that’s all anyone every brought up in high school. They made me so self-conscious about it that it paralyzed me. Imagine my shock when I got to college and people wanted to actually get to know me and didn’t call me Sorcha the Orca once they saw me.”

“That…that could have happened in high school,” he said, but his voice sounded so unconfident that even he didn’t believe what he was saying. Sorcha gave him a stern look, and it said everything that needed to be said. “Okay. You’re right. But still. You never, like, went out in high school. I mean you had Victoria. Victoria would be out but you’d never be with her.”

“I never went out because I was always in therapy.”

There was a pause as Nate digested her words. “You—you were in therapy?”

“Of course I was. The most popular people at school were making my life a living hell and bullying me so bad that I was developing disordered eating.”

Nate had to bite his tongue. The repercussions and the tolls of what had been done to her in high school were finally being revealed. He could have cursed every single soul that did anything mean to her, but he knew that he’d curse himself in that. “Are you still in therapy?”

“Yeah,” Sorcha nodded her head. “Not as much and not as often, obviously. But yeah, I still see someone. It’s helped me a lot.”

“Is it someone who works with your step-dad?”

“My step-dad is a pediatric neurologist, so that’s a no.”

Nate remembered in elementary school when Sorcha and Aidan’s mom remarried Dr. Dagar Ibrahim. Sorcha’s mom and dad divorced when she was one, and although Aidan remembered him, Sorcha didn’t. After the divorce he was never around, but Aidan and Sorcha kept his last name. From what Nate had heard, Dr. Dagar was a better dad to them than their actual dad ever was – at least, that’s what he overheard his parents and other parents talking about in the school yard or on the phone with one another. In grade seven there was a vicious rumour that Sorcha’s mom had married a doctor to put Sorcha on a diet so she could lose weight. A girl in their class had spread it, and even added that he was going to perform liposuction on her at their house. In reality, Dr. Dagar was one of the best pediatric neurologists in the country, and worked at IWK Hospital. He helped treat congenital defects of the brain and spinal cord and neurological problems associated with brain tumours on kids from all over the Atlantic provinces, yet people were making rumours about liposuction.

“The therapy…were you able to just, like, I don’t know, forget what people said to you?” he asked.

Sorcha shook her head. “I never forgot it. I learned to cope and I learned that other people’s perception of me wasn’t reality. That was my problem – I had made it my reality and I felt powerless because other people were defining me. I created my own reality and learned that I had a right to be happy, and to enjoy things the exact same way skinny girls did. But like, I still remember everything – every name, ever rumour, every mean thing. I can’t just forget what you and your buddies would call me and say about me.”

“But it wasn’t me saying those things,” Nate tried to defend himself.

“No…” Sorcha began, “but you didn’t exactly tell them to stop, and sometimes that’s just as bad. Maybe even worse.”

Nate was ashamed of himself. Completely. Here he was, one of the most successful hockey players in the world, a multi-millionaire, and he hated himself, even just for a brief moment. Well, his past self, at least – the self that never said anything, that never stood up for Sorcha, that never told anybody to stop. And now, looking at her in the eye after staying silent for so long accepting her words, he resolved to never be silent again. “I’m sorry, Sorcha,” he said softly, for the first time ever. “I really am.”

“I forgive you, Nate,” Sorcha said easily. Because it was for her. “I did a long time ago. But I don’t forgive Shane. I never have and I never will.”

“Yeah…” he nodded slowly, his mind running a mile a minute with all the things Shane would call her and say to her. They were gross – like, absolutely gross – and that was just the stuff he was remembering at the moment. He bet that if he really thought back, he’d be able to remember even more and be even more disgusted. “Yeah, I get that.”

It was Sorcha’s turn to stay silent. Neither were even eating anymore – they were just staring at each other as their food got cold. This was much more serious, anyway, and much for filling, at least for the soul. It nourished both of them in ways they didn’t think possible. But Sorcha wasn’t done. “He’s the worst kind of person, you know. Like, the absolute worst,” she said.

“Because of the bullying.”

Sorcha nodded, but looked away. She debated even telling him. But he had to know. Nate had to know what she went through if they were really going to resolve things, to start a new chapter, to do…whatever it was that they were doing. “You know, when you left for Colorado, and all of us here had graduated and were moving on to university and college and whatever…he would be horrible to me at school, but then would be messaging me at night begging for us to hook up.”

Nate’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Sorcha nodded her head. Now that she’d said it out loud, she felt like a weight had lifted off her shoulders. She finally felt at peace. The only other person who knew was Victoria. Now that one of Shane’s friends knew, things were different – the information was all the more lethal. At least Nate would finally know how much of a piece of shit Shane was. “He didn’t want to go to university a virgin, and because he’d spent his entire life making sure I hated myself and my body, he thought I’d be an easy yes to have sex with him. I rejected him, of course. I would have spit in his face if I could, honestly. And I wanted to when I saw him at the café with you.”

Nate couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew Shane was a bit of a dick, but this took it to a whole new level. “Holy shit,” he shook his head absent-mindedly. “What a fucking asshole.”

“You’re telling me,” Sorcha’s tone was sarcastic.

“No no, I don’t—” he stuttered out, still speechless at what Sorcha just told him. “I just feel sick.”

“Yeah, well…you should. That’s the kind of person he is. Scum of the earth. That’s why I’ll never forgive him.”

“You have no reason to,” Nate said, completely meaning it. “And he’s never apologized?”

Sorcha snorted. “Please,” she rolled her eyes. “He’s not capable of empathy. Actually, between you and me, he’s not capable of much, if you know what I mean.”

Nate couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face. When Sorcha caught him smiling, she shared one with him. “I’m glad you’re where you are, Sorcha. It’s nice seeing you like this.”

“I think I’m gonna need another drink,” she joked, finishing the last of her jungle bird.

***

Nate and Sorcha somehow finished dinner despite all their talking and their food getting cold. They even ordered dessert, because what was more time together when you couldn’t stop catching up with each other? Sorcha spoke more about Florence and Toronto; she and Nathan compared restaurants they’d been to in the city, and neighbourhoods they hung out in. He, of course, knew so many of the King West hot spots. She begged him to try something better than overpriced cocktails and steak.

Nate paid again, because he was the one who suggested dinner in the first place, even though Sorcha was more persistent than last time about paying her half. He watched as she put her leather jacket back on and hung her bag on her shoulder. He allowed her to lead the way out. The restaurant had gotten really busy, and they had to squeeze through groups of people to make their way to the door. Sorcha wasn’t intimidated at all, looking behind her to make sure he was still following her.

“You wanna go walk down by the harbour?” Nate asked suddenly the second they got outside.

Before Sorcha could second-guess anything; before she could make some smart-aleck remark or ask him why he wanted to go walk down by the harbour with her, or think about Juno curled up on the couch alone, she was nodding her head. “Yeah, sure.”

Their pair walked down Salter Street together, continuing their conversation which had pivoted to how much Nathan had traveled thanks to hockey. He talked of the first time he stepped onto a chartered team flight and how he felt so out of his element because of how fancy it was. He spoke of the practical jokes the team would play on each other on the plane and at the hotel. He spoke of hearing so many interesting things about certain cities like Chicago or Dallas or Vancouver, but not really being able to check anything out, unless they had a day off in the city.

“What’s your favourite road city then?” Sorcha asked as they walked along the harbour. Despite it being dusk, and chilly enough that Sorcha’s leather jacket was warranted, there were enough people surrounding them along the harbourfront – there were quite a few people walking around, and some people on the outdoor patios, eating and drinking and having a great time on a nice, cool night.

“Chicago, I think. I love the vibe there,” Nate admitted.

Sorcha nodded. Though she’d never been to Chicago, she’d heard nothing but good things about it. It was definitely on her list of cities to go to when she saved up enough money. “I’ve always wanted to go to the Art Institute of Chicago,” she mentioned.

“Oh yeah? I’ve never been,” Nate said.

Sorcha stopped dead in her tracks. “What?”

“What?”

“You’ve been to Chicago how many times and you’ve never thought to spend a day or even just an afternoon at the Art Institute?” she demanded.

“…No?”

“Nathan!” she chastised, smacking him against his arm which caused him to laugh at her. It probably just made her angrier. “But the Seurat! The Picasso! Nighthawks! American Gothic! How dare you not go!”

“What are those?” he teased, playing with her, though if he was being honest, the only name he recognized was Picasso. He didn’t know what a Seurat was or what American Gothic was or why she was so excited about them.

Sorcha’s eyes went wide before she let out a long, exasperated “Uuuurrrrgggggghhhhh!” in complete dismay of the man standing across from her. “I’m going to kill you. I’m seriously going to kill you.”

“That’s harsh, Sorcha.”

“It’s warranted, Nathan.”

Nate couldn’t help but laugh again, his smile spreading from ear to ear. He liked this. He liked being with her. He liked how funny she was, and how riled up she got about art. He liked her confidence and how she showcased it every chance she got. He liked how her curls moved in the wind. He liked the feel of her hand on his bicep, even though she was meant to be hitting him and even though it was supposed to hurt (it didn’t). If she did it again it would take some serious willpower not to raise his own hand to grab hers.

They continued their walk in silence, both with smiles trying to be hidden on their faces, before Sorcha broke it. “You know how we were in the restaurant and you told me you liked seeing me like this?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’s nice seeing you like this. Not on TV. Not on the ice. Just, like…here in Halifax. Normal, you know.”

“I’m always normal.”

Sorcha rolled her eyes playfully. “You know what I mean, Nate.”

Nate shook his head slightly. “I think you have this idea of me in your head that because I became some big hockey star that I got too big for my head,” he said. “And that, like, right now, or when we’ve been together, I’m putting on an act or something. Like I’m pretending to be normal. This isn’t an act. This is just me. I’m not like that at all, Sorcha. What you’re getting is who I am. It’s not more complicated than that.”

Sorcha knew in her heart of hearts that he was right. She’s had her guard up based on their history, and what had happened in the past between them, and she needed to let go. It was unhealthy to hold on to preconceived notions of others – she, more than anyone, should have understood that. “I’m sorry, Nate,” she apologized sincerely.

“It’s alright,” he said, forgiving her easily. “I just don’t want you thinking I’m some big shot who thinks he’s too good for people. I’m the furthest from that.”

She nodded her head in understanding. “I see that now.”

When Nate looked at Sorcha, he saw an authenticity and sincerity in her that couldn’t be faked. What she had just said came from the heart; it was genuine. And in that sincerity, in that look in her eye, Nate admitted to himself that he wanted to spend more time with her; that he liked being around her more than anything; that he was falling hard for her.