Chapter Text
The third period just ended, with a 3-2 loss for the Carolina Hurricanes. It was a hard fought game against the New York Islanders that the Hurricanes arguably should have won, but it wasn’t in the cards. The Canes were sitting nicely in 2nd in the Metro, and they should have a playoff spot, as long as things don’t continue to go as disastrously as they did today.
She finished the caption for the post on X, detailing the loss.
Just came up short
No, not quite it.
We’ll get the next game
She lingered on the post, reading it a few times. It was neutral, and mostly forgettable in the way these posts should be. Yeah, that’ll work. She hit post. It was always awful having to make a post after a loss, especially one like today. She knew the fans would present their opinions in the comments, but it wasn’t for her to worry about. Plus, a few social media comments were nothing. People always have their opinions, and they’re entitled to them.
She turns off the screen on the team issued iPhone and stares at her reflection in the screen for a brief moment.
How long will I feel like an impostor?
The thought came and went quickly. She shook her head as she pushed the thought away, before it could settle. She tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.
She started packing her laptop bag. She methodically put her laptop, phone, and chargers in specific pockets. Everything has a place, and if she didn’t put things away correctly now, it would only stress her out later. She mentally ran through the checklist. End of game post. Photos saved. Backups made. Laptop, phone, chargers, all put away. Her ID was still on the lanyard around her neck.
The hum of voices in the hallway behind her started getting louder. It was time for the PR staff to catch up, give updates, and prepare for the next day, the next game.
She ran through her mental checklist one more time. Laptop, phone, charger, photos, ID…
She slung the laptop bag over her shoulder as she walked towards the hallway, the noise growing louder each step. The team had a flight home to catch. As she rounded the corner into the hallway she looked down again, triple checking for her credentials, and had to abruptly stop short.
Her breath hitched, and her heart kicked wildly in her chest. A quick breath and she forced her fight or flight reaction back under control. She looked up, and realized Rod Brind’Amour, the head coach, stood right in front of her.
He was much closer to her than he ever had been before. Closer than she meant to be. His red tie was loosened slightly, jacket still on but unbuttoned. His expression was distant, clearly still working through the outcome of the game, but he didn’t move.
“Sorry,” she said automatically, feeling a fresh spike of adrenaline under her skin. Her hands felt tingly, and she flexed her fingers to ground herself. She tugged the strap of her laptop bag higher on her shoulder.
His eyes met hers, briefly, before he looked down at her credentials. She felt his gaze on her as she tried everything she knew to get her breathing back under some semblance of control.
“You always go around corners that fast?,” he said, a little distracted. But he didn’t move past her right away.
The question caught her off guard slightly, but she kept a neutral expression. “Just part of the job.” she replied, quietly.
His gaze lingered on her a second longer. She glanced past him before shifting to the side enough to clear the hallway.
He stepped past her, and then slowed.
“Did the post go out already? He asked. She hesitated for a moment.
“Oh, yes, sir.” She responded quickly.
He gave a small nod. “Good.” Then he turned back and kept walking down the hallway.
She didn’t move right away. The hallway was still busy around her, people walking and talking in clusters, carrying gear, heading in different directions like the feeling of the game was already behind them. She waited for a gap in movement between groups, and darted into the restroom.
She shut the door and locked it behind her, the hum of the hallway fading almost instantly. She quickly scanned the room Door, mirror, sink, no second entrance. An old habit she still couldn’t shake. It was useless here. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. Her breathing wasn’t doing what she wanted it to. She tried to keep everything under control. In, hold, out, hold…. Too fast. She deliberately counted the seconds in her head as she continued to breathe deeply. She felt her heart rate easing back down to resting, and opened her eyes. This is nothing. Again. This is nothing. You got this job because someone thought you were qualified enough to do it.
She tightened her jaw slightly. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. But the interaction kept slipping back in anyway. He had looked at her. Not past her, not through her. He really looked at her. Then he asked about the post, right after the game. He saw the post. She kept turning this thought over in her head. She couldn’t get it to sit still. Coaches don’t normally care about that stuff. Not personally.
No, it didn’t mean anything. She was definitely overthinking it. Like she does everything. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.
She straightened up off the wall and gazed at herself in the mirror. On the outside she held a professional appearance. Her hair was neatly curled and swept behind her ears. Her makeup was simple, she never had the desire to wear much else. She felt a wave of sadness wash over her. Every day she woke up and put on the armor, and every day she felt like someone would see through it all.
Not the hair, or the makeup, or the way she kept her voice polite and even. Anyone could learn that. She had. It was everything else she wasn’t sure about.
Her gaze lingered on her reflection for a second too long before she looked away, like if she stared at it any longer she might actually find something she didn’t want to see.
She pushed off of the sink with a quiet exhale. “You’re fine,” she muttered to herself, not entirely convinced of its validity.
She reached up and readjusted the lanyard around her neck, even though it was already straight. The motion was automatic, and more something to do with her hands than anything else.
People ask questions. It’s normal. It happens all the time. It is literally his job. She thought to herself.
She picked up the laptop bag and slung it over her shoulder again. She quickly unlocked the door before she could change her mind, and stepped out into the busy, noisy hallway. She just wanted to disappear into the chaos.
She started walking past a group of team employees that were in mid-conversation, and offered a brief but polite smile.
“We’re getting on the bus in 10.” one of them said as she passed.
“Got it, thanks.” She replied, nodding like she hadn’t just been hiding in the bathroom after a simple interaction. Yeah, that was normal. Totally normal. She reassured herself.
She moved with the flow of people toward the exit, and fell into step with the crowd. It was easier to manage it all when she had a direction. Less space and time for her mind to wander.
She saw the exit doors ahead. A crowd had begun to gather. The players were chatting with each other in small groups around the doorway. Then, she spotted him again without meaning to.
He was talking to one of the assistants, and was fidgeting constantly. A step forward, a pause, then a shift back. His hand came up briefly as he said something, then dropped again as he turned slightly, already half-moving like he had somewhere else to be. He didn’t pace exactly, but he just never quite settled.
She told herself not to look, it would just make things awkward. “If there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s making things awkward.”
She looked anyway. Just for a brief second.
And of course, because that’s how these things always seem to go, his gaze flicked up to meet hers.
She looked away too quickly, like she had just been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. She felt her stomach drop and her pulse quickened again.
God… Get it together. she cringed internally as a new wave of panic tried to take hold.
It doesn’t mean anything. He probably talks to everyone like that. He always seems like he knows everything going on around the team.
She shifted her grip on her bag, and frowned as the thought started circling back again.
Did the post go out already?
“Yeah,” she muttered under her breath. “It went out.”
She pushed through the arena doors and let the cool night air hit her, and cut through the leftover tension in her chest. She inhaled deeply this time, and let it out slowly. Better.
A few people milled around, waiting for the buses to show up. She pulled out her personal phone and glanced at the unread notifications.
Birdy: "Hey dude, where are you? The people in the hallway are driving me nuts."
She tapped on the message, and typed a quick reply "Outside, waiting on the buses." and hit send.
Almost immediately she got a message back.
Birdy: "Sick, I’ll be right there."
She glanced up just in time to see the door swing open again. Birdy glanced around and spotted her, and made a small wave as she walked over.
“What a game, huh?” Birdy said as she got closer.
“Right? I thought we had that one.” She replied as she put her phone away.
“Man, these buses need to hurry up, I am not made for this New York cold.” Birdy said as she stood with her shoulders hunched, rubbing her hands together.
“Seriously,” she said, a quiet breath of laughter slipping out. The tension in her chest felt looser now, but it was still very much there.
Birdy glanced back at her again quickly, and tilted her head to the side. “You good?” she asked, casually. Birdy had a neutral expression, but her tone was anything but.
“Yeah,” she answered automatically. “I’m good.”
Birdy held her gaze for a second longer. Then she nodded once, “Cool. Because if I have to listen to one more hallway argument about line combinations, I might just commit a crime.”
That got a real laugh, and a smile out of her this time.
“Yeah, that was… a lot. You never know what the coaches are going to throw out there.”
“Right?” Birdy bumped into her shoulder slightly. “You look like you just escaped a war zone in there.”
The words landed a bit closer to home than they should have on a random Tuesday night in New York.
She huffed out a quick breath. “Yeah, something like that.”
The first bus rounded the corner, the headlights blinding them. Birdy shifted on her feet to angle away from the light, and to shield them a little more away from the doors as a group of people began to file out.
“Next time,” Birdy added, “we’re sneaking out earlier. I am not built for post-loss vibes”
“Noted,” she said. And just like that, the tightness in her chest eased another notch