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I like to come on here and check up on my favorite accounts to make sure yâall are still living and breathing and itâs such a nice reminder of my time here
A/N: literally do not even @ me I'm fucking crazy and I have no idea what I'm doing or when I'll update
âYouâre gonna want to take the first flight out, arenât you? So you can get home quicker.â
When Ryan received the news of his trade to the Toronto Maple Leafs, the first people that he called were his parents, Brian and Bonnie. To say that they were ecstatic to have their son much closer to home was an understatement â his mom practically blew out his eardrum over the phone. He was able to have a short but emotional conversation with his dad before telling them he had to go. There was barely anything in his suitcase â just a few suits, and an outfit or two to tie him over for a few days.
As he stepped onto the plane with Noel Acciari, he took his phone out of his pocket once more. There was one more person to text before the news broke and the deal was announced on all the major networks and Twitter.
Iâm coming home, Whit.
She didnât answer for a while. He didnât blame her. It had been months since theyâd exchanged text messages, for no other reason than he knew her job kept her busy, and his job kept him busy, too. But he wanted so desperately for her to answer, just so that she knew before she saw it on Twitter or read it in the newspaper the next day. He didnât want Owen to be the one to tell her, either, because Ryan knew he would.
Youâre injured again? Iâm so sorry, Ryan.
Not injured. I got traded to the Leafs.
Ryan saw the pilot walk on to the plane, and shook his hand before he disappeared into the cockpit. His legged bobbed up and down quickly, waiting for another response. She wasnât responding. He wondered if she was too shocked to respond. The fact that theyâd finally be in the same place together after over ten years of being apart, only seeing each other in the summers, was enough to get his heart racing. He wanted to believe hers was, too.
The pilot came over the PA system and told everyone it was time to switch their phones to airplane mode. Ryan opened the conversation one last time. She still hadnât responded.
About to fly. Iâll see you in Toronto, Whit. Right?
His leg kept shaking. He had to pretend he was messaging his mom and dad when Noel asked. Right before he switched on airplane mode, a text came through.
Of course. I canât wait to see you. Come over when you can. I'll make sure to wear the lace you like.
the most nefarious thing about sweeney revealing that bruins leadership wasnât confident in the decision to sign miller is the fact that heâs going to let them take the fall for a decision thatâs out of their hands.
players do not control who the team signs. if they did, the bruins wouldnât have signed miller. management wouldâve heard their locker room leaders in doubt and decided to back out, but instead they listened to the biggest voices on their roster express concern and said âgreat! then itâs a go!â.
sweeney obviously did not expect the immediate pushback from beat writers at the press conference, and was waffling on justifying something he knows is unjustifiable. he wanted to sign miller and didnât care about the racism because it wouldnât affect anyone in the locker room. he could ignore his players because theyâre ultimately not in control, but the press now asking questions he was completely unprepared for means that he has to push his answer down the line somehow, and adding that bruins leadership was confused by the decision was the perfect way to wiggle out of his discomfort with his own personal decision making.
what he said leaves bruins leaders with two options: 1) to say they support the clubâs decision (even if they donât) and look shitty to the public 2) to speak against bruinsâ management and give sweeney the opportunity to act like some of the players arenât âforgivingâ enough, making them look shitty to old establishment hockey media. as soon as the press gets a chance to ask players about this tomorrow, the morality of it will be out of sweeneyâs hands and the problem of the men who had no control over the decision in the end.
iâm not saying that bruinsâ players shouldnât reckon with what this signing means, because they should and they have to. what i am saying is that itâs shitty for sweeney to refuse to provide a reasonable answer for signing a racist, say that his own players were confused at the idea, and then leave said players with no tone or reasoning to follow when answering media questions because the man who made the original decision has reasoning as solid as jello.
this is the type of shit that disturbs a locker room more than any injury or rivalry, so sweeney and neely just cannot be surprised when it immediately bites them in the ass.
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That Which We Are, We Are | Nathan MacKinnon | Chapter 3
gif credit @/joeydaccord
A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! Enjoy :)
âIâm sorry, youâre going out to dinner with whomst?â
Sorcha groaned into the phone at her best friendâs tone. Even from all the way in Vancouver, Sorcha could hear the absolute distaste in her tone. âVictoriaââ
âYou could have at least waited until I was off work! How the hell am I going to concentrate on anything now knowing youâre having dinner with Nathan MacKinnon?!â
âPlease stop saying his name. Every time you do, Iâm 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,â Sorcha pleaded into the phone. âI couldnât say no to him, Vic.â
âWhy not? If you keep being reminded of who he was before he became a famous hockey player, then why couldnât you say no?â
âBecause he was so stupidly nice about it!â Sorcha was in pure agony. âHow can a guy who was complicit in my bullying for so many years be soâŚnice?!â
âBeats the shit out of me,â Victoria said. âYou have to tell me every single detail of what happens. You know that, right? Like Iâm 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.â
Sorcha rolled her eyes but couldnât help but laugh at her best friendâs overdramatic and comedic nature. âYeah, Iâm gonna go ahead and say Iâm not going to do that, but Iâm definitely calling when itâs over,â she agreed. âNever in a million years did I think this would be happening. A billion years â a trillion years! The universe could have collapsed and regenerated itself and I still wouldnât think this could happen.â
âDo you know what youâre wearing?â Victoria asked suddenly.
âSort of. Want to help?â
âAbso-fucking-lutely.â
***
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 didnât 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 wasnât 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 hadnât been waiting long â five minutes at most â 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. âYouâre always early,â she said, draping her cross-body purse over the back of her chair.
Nate shrugged his shoulders playfully. âYouâre always late.â
âYou said reservations were for 7. ItâsâŚâ she stopped, looking at her watch as she sat down in her seat across from him. âItâs 6:58, on the dot.â
âCan I get you two a drink?â the waitress asked.
âIâll have anything you have from Propeller,â Nate said, referring to the famous craft beer brewed locally.
âIâll take a jungle bird,â Sorcha ordered a cocktail.
When the waitress walked away, Nate smiled again at Sorcha. He couldnât 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. âThanks for coming,â he said.
âThanks for pestering, I guess,â 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 â the bone-in pork chop for him, and the rainbow trout noodle bowl for her. Nate spoke to her about his workouts, but it wasnât nearly as exciting as what she was doing. She encouraged him to take time off â like actual time off. He let her know that wasnât possible. Nobody makes Team Canadaâs Olympic roster by slacking or taking time off.
Sorcha rolled her eyes as she took a bite of her rainbow trout. âGive me a break. I think besides Sidney Crosby youâre the only other shoe-in for Team Canada.â
âMcDavid.â
âOkay, so youâre the third shoe-in.â
Nate shook his head. âNothing is guaranteed. I mean, Sid is Sid.â
âWhatever you say, Nate.â
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 wasnât the Sorcha he remembered at all. Sheâd made a point when he showed up at the art gallery that he didnât know her, and she was right â he didnât. 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. âYouâIâŚâ he didnât know how to word what he wanted to say. âYouâre so different from how I remember you. Youâre soâŚconfident.â
âItâs been like, eight years Nate. Obviously people change,â she said.
âNo no, I know that. Itâsâitâs not coming out right,â he shook his head at himself for not being more articulate. âI mean, like, when I remember you in elementary school and high school, you would like clam up if someone even spoke to you. You wouldnât say a word to anybody besides Victoria. Youâve gone through, like, a whole transformation. Youâve just become a completely different person.â
Sorcha knew what he was trying to say, however inarticulate he thought he was. âI think I had to,â she admitted, in a voice softer than sheâd spoken with before. âI had two options when I left high school â 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 lifeâŚor I could do something about it. I could shed it all off, embrace people who didnât 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.
âWhy couldnât that happen in high school though?â he asked.
âBecause nobody let me. Everyone who bullied me kept me in a box. More importantly, I didnât 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 thatâs 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 didnât call me Sorcha the Orca once they saw me.â
âThatâŚthat could have happened in high school,â he said, but his voice sounded so unconfident that even he didnât believe what he was saying. Sorcha gave him a stern look, and it said everything that needed to be said. âOkay. Youâre right. But still. You never, like, went out in high school. I mean you had Victoria. Victoria would be out but youâd never be with her.â
âI never went out because I was always in therapy.â
There was a pause as Nate digested her words. âYouâyou were in therapy?â
âOf 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.â
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 heâd curse himself in that. âAre you still in therapy?â
âYeah,â Sorcha nodded her head. âNot as much and not as often, obviously. But yeah, I still see someone. Itâs helped me a lot.â
âIs it someone who works with your step-dad?â
âMy step-dad is a pediatric neurologist, so thatâs a no.â
Nate remembered in elementary school when Sorcha and Aidanâs mom remarried Dr. Dagar Ibrahim. Sorchaâs mom and dad divorced when she was one, and although Aidan remembered him, Sorcha didnât. 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 â at least, thatâs 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 Sorchaâs 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.
âThe therapyâŚwere you able to just, like, I donât know, forget what people said to you?â he asked.
Sorcha shook her head. âI never forgot it. I learned to cope and I learned that other peopleâs perception of me wasnât reality. That was my problem â 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 â every name, ever rumour, every mean thing. I canât just forget what you and your buddies would call me and say about me.â
âBut it wasnât me saying those things,â Nate tried to defend himself.
âNoâŚâ Sorcha began, âbut you didnât exactly tell them to stop, and sometimes thatâs just as bad. Maybe even worse.â
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 â 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. âIâm sorry, Sorcha,â he said softly, for the first time ever. âI really am.â
âI forgive you, Nate,â Sorcha said easily. Because it was for her. âI did a long time ago. But I donât forgive Shane. I never have and I never will.â
âYeahâŚâ 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 â like, absolutely gross â and that was just the stuff he was remembering at the moment. He bet that if he really thought back, heâd be able to remember even more and be even more disgusted. âYeah, I get that.â
It was Sorchaâs turn to stay silent. Neither were even eating anymore â 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 didnât think possible. But Sorcha wasnât done. âHeâs the worst kind of person, you know. Like, the absolute worst,â she said.
âBecause of the bullying.â
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 doâŚwhatever it was that they were doing. âYou know, when you left for Colorado, and all of us here had graduated and were moving on to university and college and whateverâŚhe would be horrible to me at school, but then would be messaging me at night begging for us to hook up.â
Nateâs jaw dropped. âWhat?â
Sorcha nodded her head. Now that sheâd 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 Shaneâs friends knew, things were different â the information was all the more lethal. At least Nate would finally know how much of a piece of shit Shane was. âHe didnât want to go to university a virgin, and because heâd spent his entire life making sure I hated myself and my body, he thought Iâd 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 cafĂŠ with you.â
Nate couldnât believe what he was hearing. He knew Shane was a bit of a dick, but this took it to a whole new level. âHoly shit,â he shook his head absent-mindedly. âWhat a fucking asshole.â
âYouâre telling me,â Sorchaâs tone was sarcastic.
âNo no, I donâtââ he stuttered out, still speechless at what Sorcha just told him. âI just feel sick.â
âYeah, wellâŚyou should. Thatâs the kind of person he is. Scum of the earth. Thatâs why Iâll never forgive him.â
âYou have no reason to,â Nate said, completely meaning it. âAnd heâs never apologized?â
Sorcha snorted. âPlease,â she rolled her eyes. âHeâs not capable of empathy. Actually, between you and me, heâs not capable of much, if you know what I mean.â
Nate couldnât help the smile that crept on his face. When Sorcha caught him smiling, she shared one with him. âIâm glad youâre where you are, Sorcha. Itâs nice seeing you like this.â
âI think Iâm gonna need another drink,â 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 couldnât stop catching up with each other? Sorcha spoke more about Florence and Toronto; she and Nathan compared restaurants theyâd 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 wasnât intimidated at all, looking behind her to make sure he was still following her.
âYou wanna go walk down by the harbour?â 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. âYeah, sure.â
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.
âWhatâs your favourite road city then?â Sorcha asked as they walked along the harbour. Despite it being dusk, and chilly enough that Sorchaâs leather jacket was warranted, there were enough people surrounding them along the harbourfront â 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.
âChicago, I think. I love the vibe there,â Nate admitted.
Sorcha nodded. Though sheâd never been to Chicago, sheâd heard nothing but good things about it. It was definitely on her list of cities to go to when she saved up enough money. âIâve always wanted to go to the Art Institute of Chicago,â she mentioned.
âOh yeah? Iâve never been,â Nate said.
Sorcha stopped dead in her tracks. âWhat?â
âWhat?â
âYouâve been to Chicago how many times and youâve never thought to spend a day or even just an afternoon at the Art Institute?â she demanded.
ââŚNo?â
âNathan!â she chastised, smacking him against his arm which caused him to laugh at her. It probably just made her angrier. âBut the Seurat! The Picasso! Nighthawks! American Gothic! How dare you not go!â
âWhat are those?â he teased, playing with her, though if he was being honest, the only name he recognized was Picasso. He didnât know what a Seurat was or what American Gothic was or why she was so excited about them.
Sorchaâs eyes went wide before she let out a long, exasperated âUuuurrrrgggggghhhhh!â in complete dismay of the man standing across from her. âIâm going to kill you. Iâm seriously going to kill you.â
âThatâs harsh, Sorcha.â
âItâs warranted, Nathan.â
Nate couldnât 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 didnât). 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. âYou know how we were in the restaurant and you told me you liked seeing me like this?â
âYeah?â
âWell, itâs nice seeing you like this. Not on TV. Not on the ice. Just, likeâŚhere in Halifax. Normal, you know.â
âIâm always normal.â
Sorcha rolled her eyes playfully. âYou know what I mean, Nate.â
Nate shook his head slightly. âI 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,â he said. âAnd that, like, right now, or when weâve been together, Iâm putting on an act or something. Like Iâm pretending to be normal. This isnât an act. This is just me. Iâm not like that at all, Sorcha. What youâre getting is who I am. Itâs not more complicated than that.â
Sorcha knew in her heart of hearts that he was right. Sheâs 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 â she, more than anyone, should have understood that. âIâm sorry, Nate,â she apologized sincerely.
âItâs alright,â he said, forgiving her easily. âI just donât want you thinking Iâm some big shot who thinks heâs too good for people. Iâm the furthest from that.â
She nodded her head in understanding. âI see that now.â
When Nate looked at Sorcha, he saw an authenticity and sincerity in her that couldnât 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.
When Sorcha looked at Nate, she saw an authenticity and sincerity in him that couldnât be faked. What he had just said came from the heart; it was genuine. And in that sincerity, in that look in his eye, Sorcha admitted to himself that she wanted to spend more time with him; that she liked being around him more than anything; that she had to keep her feelings at bay or else she was going to get into some serious, serious trouble.
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