by K R Collins
“Maybe next flight,” she tells Teddy. She turns her iPad on and plugs her headphones in.
He sighs but doesn’t pressure her.
Sophie wakes up to a single response from Elsa.
Four if you were my center?
“Fuck,” Sophie says. She drags a hand down her face. It isn’t humble to say yes, but her fingers hover over the keys anyway. She wants to tell Elsa to book the next flight and come to Concord. Sophie will be the best center she’s ever played with.
She spends so much of her life pushing down what she thinks. She gives the media bland soundbites, and she moderates what she says to her teammates as well. She walks a thin line between confident and arrogant. But with Elsa, she can say, Yes.
Her phone pings as she scrambles some eggs and broccoli.
ELSA: I’m holding you to it.
It sounds like a promise. This is the danger of talking to Elsa. It gets her hopes up, and Sophie can’t do this. Not again.
SOPHIE: Concord isn’t getting any closer to Sweden.
She puts her phone on silent and eats her breakfast.
Elsa never answers.
Sophie tells herself it’s what she wants.
After their first road trip, she comes home to a package. It’s large and flat and…from Elsa? She opens it and pulls out Styrofoam and bubble wrap until her fingers wrap around a framed painting. She slides the picture out of the packaging. The canvas is twice as long as it is tall. It looks as if someone took a blank canvas and splattered paint on it. Did Elsa paint this and send it to her? Sophie snaps a picture with her phone and sends it along with a direct, What is this?
ELSA: A promise.
Sophie drops down onto her couch. She drags a hand down her face and looks over her shoulder at the closed door to Elsa’s room.
Chapter Seven
MILWAUKEE COMES TO town, bringing with them Travis Mollett, one of her former Chilton teammates. Sophie hangs around after morning skate to see Sarah Keller, their head trainer. Her shoulder’s been bothering her since a hit she took late in their loss against Atlanta. Keller stretches Sophie’s shoulder past comfort, poking and prodding it until it loosens up. Then she tells her what Sophie expected to hear. “Ice and take it easy in the weight room.”
After she finishes with Keller, Sophie swings by the ice to see if Milwaukee’s done with their practice yet. She troops up the tunnel and leans against the wall as she watches the Engineers skate around the rink.
One of Milwaukee’s coaches steps in front of her, blocking her view. He’s the younger of the two assistant coaches which means he must be Coach Neuberger. He scowls at her as if he thinks she’s here to steal hockey secrets. “What’re you doing back here?”
“Waiting for Travis.”
Neuberger rolls his eyes. “Does the kid have a girl in every city?”
Oh, Neuberger wasn’t glaring at her because he thought she was here to spy on a morning skate. He thinks she’s a groupie. She fixes him with a dead stare and points her finger at the Condors logo on her sweatshirt.
Neuberger’s face flushes a deep red. “I—uh, very sorry. When you’re not in your pads…”
Sophie tucks her hands into the pouch of her sweatshirt and rocks back on her heels. She refuses to give him an out, watching instead as he grows more and more uncomfortable. Outside of Concord, Sophie still isn’t recognized much. It’s true without her pads and her jersey, she looks like an ordinary person and not the first woman to be drafted into the League. It doesn’t mean she’s okay with being mistaken for one of Travis’s hookups.
Neuberger is still trying to dig himself out of his hole when the Engineers file off the ice. Forbes is the first one to spot her. Sophie hadn’t made a good impression on him last year, and his eyes narrow after he wipes his sweaty face on the sleeve of his practice jersey. “You.”
The rest of the team crowds around, surrounding her. She feels backed into a corner and maybe it’s what makes her smile, a little mean. “Yep, me. It’s almost like this is my home rink.”
Forbes shakes his head, but Sophie sees a tiny smile tug at his lips. “Mullet, your friend is here.”
“Friend?” Travis pushes through his teammates. He has his helmet tucked under his arm, and his hair is sweaty and plastered to his forehead. He has patchy stubble growing on his chin, and he lights up as soon as he sees her. He takes a step forward and opens his arms as if he’s going to hug her.
Sophie jumps back. “No way. I just showered. You’re not getting your slime all over me.”
“Aw, come on.” Travis pouts as he wiggles his fingers at her. “Hockey players don’t smell that bad.”
“Uh-uh. Try it on someone who doesn’t spend most of her time in locker rooms.”
“Isn’t hockey what gets you going?” Thelin, a big hulking defenseman, asks with a cruel twist to his mouth. A couple of his teammates laugh.
Sophie meets his gaze evenly. She won’t let him intimidate her in her own damn rink.
“Hey,” Travis snaps.
“You can’t fight the world.” It’s the same thing she used to tell him when people tried to start shit in high school. “Hurry up and shower, I’m hungry.”
“Eat a protein bar,” he says before he heads down to the locker room.
She leans against the wall and stares down every Milwaukee player brave enough to meet her gaze. Most of them shuffle by. A couple, like Thelin, scowl at her, a promise of pain to come in the game. But number 9 stops and grins at her.
“Long time no see, rookie,” Mikhail Figuli says.
Mikhail Figuli is an NAHL legend. He’s played in this League longer than Sophie’s franchise has existed. He’s played longer than she’s been alive. She still has a poster of him hanging up in her room back in Thunder Bay. When he played for Edmonton, he and his center, Jonathan Stucki, traded the Maddow Trophy back and forth for ten years. One day, Sophie wants to play with a winger like Figuli.
Of course, their decade of dominance ended when Stucki suffered a career-ending injury, forcing him into early retirement. Figuli requested a trade, because he couldn’t keep playing in Edmonton where the ghost of his center would haunt him.
“I’m not a rookie anymore.”
Figuli waves a dismissive hand. “Once you’re my age, everyone’s a rookie.”
“You’re pulling the old card?”
“Maybe I want you to go easy on me tonight.” Figuli winks at her, and Sophie has to duck her head to hide her blush.
“You don’t need me going easy. You’ve had a good start to your season.”
With the corridor empty, she walks with him down to the visitors’ locker room. “We always have a good start. It’s the end we struggle with.” Figuli sounds every one of his forty-one years.
It’s a reminder he’s never lifted the Maple Cup or medaled in the Winter Games. He’s one of the best individual players of all time, but he’s never had the supporting cast to help him win at the highest levels. It could happen to her too. There are no guarantees in hockey. She could play for twenty years and never lift the Maple Cup.
They pause outside the room. “My team, earlier, they shouldn’t have—”
Sophie cuts him off, because she doesn’t need Figuli fighting her battles for her. “Tell them to say it to me on the ice and we’ll see how tough they are.”
Figuli laughs which means he doesn’t realize she’s being serious. “You’re a good kid. But before you go getting any ideas, the Maddow Trophy is mine this year.”
A four-point night in the last game of her rookie season gave her the edge to beat Figuli out for the trophy. She flashes him a smile. “If you can keep up with me, sure, but remember, I’m not going easy on you.”
“You should respect your elders.”
Travis comes out of the locker room, his hair still damp, and he pauses when he sees Sophie and Figuli laughing together.
“You never told me your captain is funny,” she tells Travis.
“You only tell her
the bad things?” Figuli tsks.
“What?” Travis asks.
Sophie takes pity on him. “Come on, let’s feed you. I can give you the tour of my apartment.”
Travis smiles at her, a grin she knows better than to trust. “I’ve seen your apartment already. Your TV is pretty small.”
Sophie shoves his shoulder. “I can’t believe you watch CondorsTV.”
“How else would I keep up with my favorite former captain?” He slings an arm around her shoulders. “Your bedroom is fucking sad. Forget about lunch, we should go shopping for curtains.”
“Quit talking about my bedroom. Neuberger thought I was a groupie. Do you seriously have a hookup in every city?”
“What? No!”
His face is way too red to be telling the truth. Sophie chirps him the whole way out to her car.
Teddy stayed with Sophie for Fan Fest and CondorsTV invaded for their special, but Travis is her first real guest. It’s time she stops wallowing because Elsa left her on her own. She should invite Merlin and Marissa to her place, return the favor by cooking for them for a change.
“Congrats on the A by the way.” Travis piles his sandwich high with slices of turkey and cheese. “Took them long enough to give it to you.”
“Shut up.” She elbows him so he squirts mustard all over his plate instead of his sandwich.
“What was that for? I’m telling the truth! Team Canada gave you an A at your first Winter Games. You were the youngest player to play, the youngest to win, and the youngest to do it with a letter on your chest.”
Sophie flushes as she finishes making her own sandwich. “Why are you like this?”
“Speaking of international play…” Travis pushes his sandwich aside to plant his forearms on the table. The look on his face means trouble as he leans forward. “Elsa Nyberg.”
Sophie groans. “No.” She finally stopped thinking about Elsa. She takes her sandwich and sits at the counter. She runs through topics of conversation, hoping for one which will serve as a good distraction.
Travis sits next to her. He runs his hand through his brown hair and it falls back into his eyes. “Don’t try and pull this crap on me. I’m not the media. I remember freshman year when you came back from Zimbabwe or whatever—“
“Zurich.”
“You came back from Zurich with hearts in your eyes.”
No she didn’t. Elsa was one of the best hockey players she’d ever played against, but it doesn’t mean she returned with a crush on her or anything. “Zurich’s in Switzerland. Where did you even get Zimbabwe from?”
“Stop trying to distract me, I’m mocking you right now. Elsa Nyberg was so nice. We didn’t even speak the same language but we became best friends then I stomped all over her heart and her gold medal aspirations. Oh, then junior year when you came back from Tanzania—”
“Turin. Are you doing this on purpose?”
“Duh.” Travis kicks her lightly under the table. “Teasing aside, it sucks she didn’t come over this year. I know you were looking forward to it.”
“Maybe next year.”
Travis looks at her, his gaze too sharp and assessing. She forgets he knows her in ways her current teammates don’t. She can’t feed him media lines and expect him to buy them. But, because he knows her as well as he does, he says, “I hope she does. I want to see this winger you think is better than me.”
“I centered Figuli at the All-Star Game last year. You’ve definitely been replaced as my best winger.”
Travis draws a breath as if to protest before he nods. “Yeah, fair enough. Isn’t he amazing to play with?”
Sophie takes a giant bite of her sandwich and settles in to listen as Travis regales her with stories from this season.
Thelin slams Sophie into the boards on her second shift, hard enough to jar her shoulder. She’ll have to visit Keller again. For now, she ignores the pain and tries to shove him off her. He presses her into the boards and leans in close to whisper. “Is this doing it for you?”
She elbows him. “How about you let me score and I’ll get back to you?”
He presses on the back of her helmet, grinding her visor into the glass. She slips his hold in time to chase down the puck and outlet it up to Witzer. Confident he can carry the puck into the zone, she skates to the bench for a change.
She sits at the end of the bench. X hands her a water bottle. “Tonight’s going to be one of those nights then?”
“Always.”
Spitz sits next to her at intermission. Merlin slides over to make space for him, and Sophie’s careful not to elbow him as she massages the worst of the ache from her shoulder. “The guys said not to jump to your defense after every hit.”
She goes through a version of this talk with every new teammate she has. It isn’t Spitz’s fault he’s new, and it isn’t his fault she’s been through this so many times. She pushes down her irritation as she answers. “Yep.”
Spitz nods. “Watch out for Kaltz. I played with him in Germany. He thinks he’s a tough guy.”
“Thinks?”
“You play tougher than he ever did.” Spitz beams at her, brimming with confidence even though they’ve only played a handful of games together.
Sophie and Kaltz lock sticks midway through the second period. He tries to use his height to force her to her knees. She’s stronger than him, though, and with a twist of her stick, she uses momentum and surprise to send him sprawling to the ice.
She stands over him for a moment before she skates back into the play.
They lose 2-4 with Figuli scoring the game-winner and the insurance goal. He smiles cheerfully at her as the buzzer sounds and she almost wishes he was an asshole, because then she wouldn’t feel guilty for wanting to punch him in the face. She wipes her sweaty face on the damp sleeve of her sweater and troops down to the locker room to face the media.
She has enough time to strip to her Under Armour and shove down the worst of her disappointment. By the time Rickers and the rest of them pour in, she has a neutral expression fixed to her face.
“Mikhail Figuli is unstoppable,” Ed Rickers says. He fidgets with his tie. “Sometimes it feels as if he still hasn’t hit his peak.”
“He’s good.” Sophie is a firm believer in giving credit where it’s due, but, “Lindy had an unreal stop on him on the penalty kill.”
“If he had a couple more, you might’ve won the game,” Marty Owen says.
She doesn’t know how Owen can twist compliments into criticism so easily. “We played a tight first period but we were sloppy in the third. We need to work on playing a full sixty minutes.”
She answers questions for another twenty minutes before Mary Beth clears the locker room of everyone who isn’t on the team. She gives Matty a significant look before she follows the reporters out.
Matty stands up, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Tomorrow, Mister Lightbody’s fifth grade science class is visiting which means leave all your foul language at home.”
“If we’re Condors then isn’t all our language fowl language?” Merlin asks.
Four different guys throw their sweaty socks at Merlin’s head. Zinger loudly declares how he should be fined. Sophie laughs and dodges the incoming sock balls by escaping to the shower.
Kid events always means Sophie’s the focus of the cameras. Of course, any event involving the Condors means Sophie’s the focus of the cameras. At least, since there are kids here, she can wear her Under Armour leggings and one of her jerseys instead of a suit. Kids remind her of a promise she made last year, and she finds Mary Beth when she arrives at the rink.
“Can we put together a visit to Jessi’s school?”
“Show-and-tell?” Mary Beth nods. “We’ll schedule it for late November. Napoli likes me to space out the kid stuff.”
She wishes she could ask for them to leave the cameras behind. She’s visiting Jessi’s class because it’ll make Jessi happy, not because it’s an opportunity to promote the team with a feel-g
ood story. But Concord’s still a fledging franchise which means they have to turn everything to their advantage.
At least Sophie doesn’t have to curl her hair for the kids. She tugs on the end of her ponytail and heads into the locker room. Ben Granlund, their equipment manager, has worked some kind of magic, because it doesn’t smell like stale sweat and grungy hockey gear. The stalls are clean, and their nameplates have been replaced with the names of the kids. There’s a whole slew of fifth graders, standing next to their poster boards, proud of their diagrams and drawings and fact sheets.
On the far end is a boy with dark hair and even darker eyes. He looks around the room, hesitant, as if he’s afraid. He tracks the cameras and then Theo as the big defenseman is drawn to a group of boys in the corner.
Sophie offers the boy a friendly smile and crouches so she doesn’t loom as tall over him. “Hi, I’m Sophie. What’s your name?”
He blinks at her and shrinks closer to his poster.
“This is Tito.” A girl with ringed blonde curls comes over. She smiles at Tito and then at Sophie. “His family moved here from Guatemala. He’s shy. Mister Lightbody says to talk slowly and enunciate clearly, because when we talk too fast all our words jumble together and it’s hard for Tito to understand.”
“Did you say Guatemala?” J-Rod drops to one knee in front of Tito so the kid is taller than him. He holds a fist out for the kid to bump as he says something in Spanish.
Tito lights up, and he answers, pointing to himself and J-Rod and then his poster. Given the way he points to different pictures and graphs, Sophie thinks he’s giving his presentation in his native language. Mr. Lightbody, a man in his late fifties, takes a step toward the small group as if he wants to break it up, but Mary Beth smoothly intercepts him as the camera crew flocks around Tito and J-Rod.
“Which one is your poster?” Sophie asks.
The girl leads her over to Kevlar’s stall, only the nameplate reads Lee-Ann today. Her poster board is bright yellow with pictures and maps all over it. “This is my presentation on the California condor. Hey, why are you called the condors when they live in California, Utah, Arizona, and Mexico?” She taps the map in the left corner of her poster. All the states she mentioned have been shaded red, along with the part of Mexico where the condor can be found.
