ann

The trade was supposed to feel like a reset. At least that was what you told yourself on the flight, watching the grey sky flatten into something endless outside the window. Boston had been your first and official professional home. You learned how to be a reliable forward there, playing the role they needed, but the systems always felt a little too tight. You learned quickly that being useful and belonging were two different things.

So when the early-season trade materialized, you treated it like a clean slate. As new system, a new locker room, and a new version of yourself. Toronto gave you exactly that. The locker room was vibrant, and the coaching staff let you breathe on the ice. You started on the third line, determined to keep your head down and focus on getting your groove, but your offensive production made you impossible to ignore. You climbed the ranks, landing a spot on the top line.

That was where you started skating more often beside Daryl.

At the beginning, you told yourself to keep things strictly professional. It started when you began showing up for early shifts. You liked getting to the facility when it's nice and quiet, but the first time you hauled your gear bag on the bench at six in the morning, Daryl was already there. She was sitting, taping her stick in the quiet hum of the empty rink.

"Morning," she said, her voice rough from sleep. She didn't look up from her blade.

"You're here early," you replied, opening the tumbler that you filled with coffee.

"I live nearby so might as well." She snapped the tape, pressing the end down with her thumb, and finally glanced over. "Want to run some passing drills? Or are you just here to drink while watching me tape?"

"Don't test me. My body hasn't fully absorbed the caffeine yet, Daryl."

Daryl snorted, a brief, genuine sound that cut through the quiet. "Finish your coffee first then."

Days bled into weeks, and those brief exchanges turned into a little routine. The banter grew easier, the silences less guarded. You would sit on the bench for an hour before anyone else arrived, laughing over terrible college stories and gossiping about the league's latest news.

Then came the morning you walked into the facility to find a cup sitting on your usual spot on the bench.

Daryl was already on the ice, running edge drills. She didn't miss a beat as she carved a sharp turn. "I asked for iced," she called out over her shoulder. "Americano with no sugar."

You picked up the cup, the condensation cool against your palm. You had mentioned the order in passing a week ago. "You remembered?"

She leaned her forearms on the ledge, resting her chin on her gloves. "You looked half-dead yesterday. Thought I'd do us both a favor before practice."

"Wow. You're so thoughtful."

"I'm a delight, what can I say," she said deadpan. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Drink it before it waters down."

The tension didn't arrive all at once. It accumulated in the quiet spaces between the banter. You started bringing her the protein bars she liked, tossing them into her lap when she collapsed on the bench after a heavy skate. You would text each other before the sun was even up.

: showing up for practice early? daryl: shoot daryl: totally slept on my alarm daryl: be there in 30?? don't start without me : let's see daryl: are u there already? : in 5mins, why daryl: do you even have coffee? : not yet daryl: i got it daryl: wait 4 me : fine daryl: xoxo

It started out innocent. Just two teammates building chemistry. But the flutters began to surface in the moments you couldn't anticipate.

During a scrimmage, a defender clipped your skate. sending you crashing hard into the boards. The breath left your lungs in a rush. Before you could even push yourself up. Daryl was there. She didn't wait for the whistle. She hauled you to your feet by the back of your jersey, her grip firm.

"You good?" she asked. Her glove rested on your shoulder a second too long, her gaze sharp as she searched your face.

"Yup, just got shaken a little," you breathed out, shaking off the sting.

"Keep your head up," she murmured. The way she looked at you wasn't just friendly; it was focused and heavy. "I'll make them pay for it later."

She was the first tap to your shoulder after a good run. During gym sessions, you would reach blindly for your tumbler only to find Daryl handing it to you, already refilled. After bitter losses that left the room suffocated in silence, she always found you first, bumping her shoulder against yours and quietly asking how you were holding up. And every single time you scored, you would turn around to find Daryl skating toward you, arms open, pulling you into a tight hug that left you hyperaware of where her hands rested against your back.

You didn't know when your feelings changed from being fond of a teammate to a physical ache that kept you awake at night. You tried to ignore it. You were terrified of overthinking every interaction, terrified of making things awkward. You forced yourself to be normal. Even when you became the person she called for late-night walks around the city, you rationalized she was just being friendly.

Everything changed on a humid night in early spring.

You had settled onto a park bench under the glow of a streetlamp, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe over a tiktok video. As the laughter died down into an easy silence, Daryl leaned back against the wooden slats. Her shoulder brushed yours. Neither of you pulled away.

"I'm glad you always say yes to these," Daryl said, staring out at the empty street. "The walks, I mean."

You bumped your knee against hers, trying to keep your tone light. "I'm just here for the cardio. Besides, I know I'm probably the only one who said yes out of everyone you invited."

Daryl went quiet. The ambient noise of the city seemed to fade into the background. She turned her head, looking at you with an unreadable intensity. "I didn't invite anyone else."

Your pulse kicked up a notch. "Never?"

"Never." Her voice dropped, softening in a way that made your breath catch and made your chest do something weird. "Just you."

You swallowed hard, searching for a joke to diffuse the weight in the air. "Keep saying things like that, and I'm going to start thinking your like me or something."

Daryl didn't laugh. She held your gaze, the streetlamp catching the amber in her eyes. "What makes you think I don't?"

The air rushed out of your lungs. You stared at her, waiting for the punchline, for the sarcastic smirk she always wore. It never came. Before you could piece together a single word, Daryl stood up, smoothing out her jacket.

"We should head back," she said softly. "I'll walk you to your building."

The walk back was agonizing. The silence was thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You were staring at the pavement, trying to steady your breathing, when you felt the back of Daryl's hand brush against yours.

You froze. You didn't pull away. Instead, she shifted her hand, her fingers deliberately sliding between yours. She squeezed gently, intertwining your hands.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You looked down at your clasped hands, then slowly tipped your head up to look at her. Daryl was staring straight ahead, her jaw set, but a faint blush colored her cheeks. A smile broke across your face, and you tightened your grip, walking the rest of the way in silence.

When your reached your lobby, she let go reluctantly, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Good night. I'll text you."

You spent the night staring at the ceiling, replaying the warmth of her hand.

After that, the weight of every interaction shifted. Daryl continued all the usual habits; the morning coffees, the rides, the lingering touches. But the quiet yearning between you was palpable. You never officially confessed your feelings, and she never demanded a label, but you both knew. Your teammates cast knowing looks across the locker room, but no one intervened. You existed in a private bubble.

When the offseason arrived, Daryl asked over lunch if you were flying back to the US.

"I'm staying," you told her, picking at your fries. "I think I've fallen in love with the city."

Daryl laughed, leaning across the table. "You hate the weather here more than anyone I know. Try again."

"Fine," you smiled, looking down at the table. "I just have my reasons."

For her birthday, you were the only person she invited out. You spent the evening at a local bowling alley, teasing her every time she threw a gutter ball. Afterward, you ended up back at her apartment. No one else was there, leaving the place quiet. Daryl padded around the kitchen, eventually bringing you a mug of stale tea because she hadn't bought actual groceries in weeks.

You sat close together on the sofa, your knees touching. The conversation drifted toward the upcoming expansion draft.

"I know you're getting protected," you said, blowing off your mug. "Have you talked to Gina?"

Daryl traced the rim of her cup. "We've had good conversations, but we haven't reached an official agreement yet." She hesitated. "Some of the other markets are making good offers too."

A knot tightened in your stomach. You forced yourself to be the supportive friend she needed. "If another market values you better and gives you the system you want, you should take it."

Daryl stopped tracing her mug. She looked at you, searching your face. "Do you really mean that?"

"Yes," you said, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. "It's your career, Daryl."

She let out a soft breath. "Would you hate me if I left?"

"I could never hate you," you said softly. "But I'd definitely boo you when you play against us."

Daryl laughed, the sound bright in the silent room. "Fair enough."

An hour later, she walked you out to the street. Before you climbed into your ride, you turned to look at her. "If you decide to go to another team, will you call me?"

Daryl's eyes softened. "You'll be the first person I call."

But as the offseason stretched on and you eventually flew back to the US to see your family, the distance fractured your routine. Messages that used to spark hours of banter were left unanswered for days. She would call to check in, bringing a flash of hope, but just as the conversation felt normal again, she would pull back.

You wanted to tell her you missed her, but the fear of pushing her away kept you quiet. You eventually snapped after a long night out with friends. You stumbled into your bedroom at two in the morning, your judgment clouded by alcohol. You opened her chat and typed without thinking.

: i miss you.

You fell asleep waiting for a reply, missing the phone call she made three minutes later. You woke up to the missed notification, your stomach sinking.

: hey sorry i missed your call. had a few drinks last night and passed out daryl: it's alright daryl: hope you're doing okay

The politeness stung and you grew tried of reading into the silence.

When Toronto announced their protected list and Daryl's name wasn't on it, you weren't surprised. You had your own meetings with Gina, securing your spot in Toronto for the next phase of the draft. Your future was anchored, while hers was unmoored.

When the news broke that Daryl had signed an EFO agreement with Detroit, you stared at the announcement on your phone for a long time. You hesitated, but eventually sent a text. You were ex-teammates now.

: Congrats on Detroit, Daryl. I'm really happy and proud of you. : Go get that bag

The hours dragged by with no response. At around 1:00 AM, your phone finally vibrated.

daryl: hey you daryl: thanks :) daryl: i've been meaning to tell you about it daryl: but ig there it is : no worries : just : i'm happy for you. really. daryl: why are you still up? : too much coffee

Before you could type anything else, the screen shifted. Daryl was calling.

You answered on the second ring. "Hey."

"Hi," Daryl said. She laughed a little, a dry, nervous sound. "This is awkward. It's been a while."

"Yeah," you agreed gently. sitting on the edge of your bed. "It kinda is."

Daryl let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I know I haven't been around much. I didn't know how to talk to you without making it worse. My head was everywhere."

"I get it," you hummed, keeping your tone steady. "The expansion draft has been insane."

"Were you disappointed?" she asked quietly. "About Detroit?"

"No," you answered honestly. "I meant what I said before. I'm proud of you, Daryl. Detroit makes a lot of sense for what you want to be build and be a part of."

"I'm scared," Daryl confessed, her voice thick with emotion. "Building a new team, establishing something from scratch... it's a lot."

"If anyone can do it, it's you," you reassured her. "You're going to be amazing out there. Detroit's gonna love you just as much as Toronto did."

The conversation flowed, flashing with the familiar cadence of your old banter. But the spaces between the words felt wider now--strained. Eventually, the silence stretched too long.

"It's getting late," you murmured.

"Yeah." Daryl whispered. But she didn't hang up. You listened to the faint sound of her breathing over the line. Outside your window, the thick, humid air of late summer pressed against the glass.

"I'm really going to miss having you around, you know?" Daryl said. Her voice dropped into a raw, vulnerable register that felt like hands wrapping around your throat. "Especially now that I won't be in the same city."

You swallowed hard, blinking back the burn in your eyes. "You'll be fine, Daryl. You'll find someone else to do coffee runs and early shifts with."

"You know it won't be the same," she said.

"No," you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper. "It won't."

The heavy pause stretched. You realized, with a sinking, hollow certainty, that this was it. This was the ceiling of what you were allowed to have with her.

"I'll still be around," you said, offering the only thing you had left. "I'm still your friend after all, Daryl."

Daryl hummed. It was a quiet, resigned sound--defeated. "Yeah. Friends."

The word hung like a dead weight between you. A coffin for everything that almost happened.

"I'm sleepy," she finally whispered. "Thank you for answering the call. It means a lot."

"Anytime. Good night, Daryl."

The line clicked dead.

You pulled the phone away from your ear, watching the screen go dark. You lay back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom. The summer heat poured through the open window, sticky and suffocating, but you felt cold.

You knew, with an agonizing clarity, that this was the end. It was the last time you would ever speak to her like that. The next time you see her, she would be wearing black and red. You would be on opposite sides of the ice. You would smile for the cameras, shake her hand after games, and pretend that the space between you had always been empty.

It was fleeting. A beautiful, contained thing that only existed in the small spaces of early morning shifts and routines. It could have been so much more. You both knew it. But then it was not. And it would never be.

Somewhere, Daryl sat in a quiet hotel room. She stared blankly at the wall, the silence pressing in on her as she realized what she had traded away for the sake of self-preservation.

She turned her head. Sitting under the faint glow of the beside lamp was the mini stuffed bunny you had given her months ago--something that she has been bringing along every time she goes out. She reached out, tracing the fabric with her thumb, her chest caving in with a grief she had no right to claim. She smiled a sad, fractured smile, mourning the end of a summer that she had let slip right through her fingers.

xxx