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“Enjolras, this question is for you: as captain of the Detroit Sojourners, what does it feel like to be the driving force that led your team to the Isobel Cup in your very first season of playing?”
Enjolras propped her chin on her hand, her forehead creased as she frowned slightly at the reporter. It was not the first press conference that they had held during their inaugural season in the National Women’s Hockey League, but it was only the second that Enjolras had been allowed to attend, after she had yelled at a reporter for a misogynistic question during the first press conference. “It’s not that I don’t sympathize with you,” Coach Fantine had told her, eyes wide and earnest. “But you also have to understand that we can’t afford to alienate the press and potential sponsors, not if we want to keep this team going.”
So Enjolras had reluctantly agreed to sit out from the rest of the press conferences for the season, and had avoided pretty much all of the press coverage in general, focusing on the game. If the press found it strange that the captain of the team didn’t speak to the press, they didn’t make a big deal out of it. But with the team making all the way to the Isobel Cup finals, Enjolras had to finally face the press again.
And judging by the look on her face, things weren’t getting off to a good start. “I mean, I think we’ve all worked really hard to drive this team forward, and giving me the credit is wrong.”
“Which is to say,” Grantaire interjected smoothly from where she was sitting next to Enjolras, her lips curved in a sardonic grin, “Artemis here is as excited as the rest of us to be here and be playing for the Cup.”
Enjolras glared at Grantaire but the press laughed, clearly used to Grantaire’s sense of humor. While the press turned their attention to other questions, Enjolras leaned over to whisper to Grantaire, “You know, I don’t need you to speak for me.”
Instead of responding, Grantaire just winked, and Enjolras practically ground her teeth together, crossing her arms in front of the red and black team emblem on her chest and tossing her blonde curls, waiting impatiently for the questions to inevitably circle back to her.
And circle back they did, though not in the way she expected. “Turning our attention off the ice,” a reporter started, “Enjolras and Grantaire, obviously we’ve talked to Grantaire a lot all season about your relationship off the ice, but Enjolras, I wanted to get your take on your relationship and what that’s like for you.”
Enjolras stared at her, dumbfounded. “Our relationship off the ice?” she repeated, glancing sideways at Grantaire, who had suddenly gone pale. “Um, I’ll be honest, I’m not really sure what you mean. I mean, obviously we’re close, we’re teammates, but our most important relationship is the one on the ice. Grantaire is our goalie and as a defender, my job is to protect her.”
“And it’s a job she does well,” Grantaire said, grabbing Enjolras’s hand and squeezing it. “I think protecting me is what she does best on ice, and looking out for each other is the role we both play off the ice.”
“Right,” Enjolras said, still looking at Grantaire like she had no idea what she was talking about. “Which is pretty similar to the role all of us play off the ice.”
From Enjolras’s other side, Combeferre cleared her throat and leaned in. “That’s right,” she said. “I think as women it’s important to realize that our role first and foremost is always to root for each other. So much time and energy is so often devoted to tearing other women down, and we’re not about that at all.”
But the attempted change in subject did not dissuade the reporter, who pressed, “While that’s admirable, is it safe to say to the type of support Enjolras and Grantaire offer each other is special?”
“Of course it’s special,” Courfeyrac chimed in from further down the table. “Look at their adorable faces – how could it be anything but special?”
That comment was enough to make people laugh and derail the line of questioning, but Enjolras still looked at Grantaire with suspicion. And as soon as the players were dismissed from the press conference so that Fantine and the rest of the coaching staff could answer some questions, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s arm and dragged her down the hallway. “What in the hell was that about?” she demanded, crossing her arms in front of her chest and glowing at Grantaire.
Grantaire scratched the back of her neck, looking a little shamefaced. “Listen, I didn’t want to be the one to have to tell you this, but – the news media kind of started reporting a couple months ago that you and I were, well, were…”
She trailed off and Enjolras just stared at her, waiting for her to continue. “Were what?”
Grantaire sighed. “That you and I were dating.”
Enjolras blinked. “Oh,” she said, a little surprised.
“Yeah, exactly, so, um,” Grantaire said, the speed and pitch of her voice rising as she continued, seemingly unable to meet Enjolras’s eyes, “so obviously I should have talked to you about it earlier because I know that you wouldn’t be happy about it, but like, it’s also kind of been a good thing? Like the media awareness of the league and our team has grown exponentially as more outlets have picked up on the story, and attendance at our games has, like, tripled, and—” She broke off, finally managing to look at Enjolras, chewing nervously on her lip. “And I know I should have told you a lot sooner. I just – I didn’t…”
Once again she trailed off, but this time, Enjolras didn’t wait for her to continue, her own eyes narrowing with barely contained fury. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she seethed, and turned on heel, marching back down the hallway towards the press room, Grantaire hot on her heels.
Grantaire hung back, a mix of horror and something like defiant pride on her face as she watched Enjolras stride to the front of the room and sit down in front of a microphone, Fantine giving her a confused look. “Excuse me,” Enjolras said, as politely as she could given the muscle that was working in her jaw. “I have a statement I would like to make.”
Instantly, all the reporters turned to her, and the sudden flash of cameras temporarily blinded Enjolras, who blinked and shook her head before clearing her throat. “It has come to my attention,” she started carefully, “that the coverage of our season in the media has been dominated not be reporting on our record, our wins, or even our losses, but instead on the assumed relationship between myself and one of my teammates. And as one of the unknowing participants in this media narrative, I wanted to set the record straight.”
She took a deep breath before continuing, her voice even and controlled. “And to set the record straight, it seems only fitting that I ask you a question: would any one of you have treated a winning NHL team in this fashion?”
The assembled reporters shifted awkwardly, some coughing uncomfortably, none seeming to want to look at Enjolras, whose eyes flashed dangerously as she glared at them. “This team,” she continued, “this remarkable group of women has accomplished something incredible. And instead of reporting on that, instead of making that your focus and narrative, you’ve chosen to focus on tabloid fodder in hopes of, I don’t know, attracting more clicks on your online articles, since I think we all know newspapers are a thing of the past.”
“The fact is that the National Women’s Hockey League is still in its nascent stage, and unfortunately, in this wonderful world of patriarchy, it’s a regrettable fact that as a women’s league, we need all the help we can get in order to keep up and running, to pay our players a salary and to compete for airtime and sponsorships in a crowded market when most people couldn’t care less about women’s sports or even laugh us off.”
She took another deep breath, her shoulders relaxing as she settled into the comfortable cadence of unleashing her full rage. “But by focusing not on our sport or our athletic achievements but on a perceived romantic or sexual relationship, you are playing right into the hands of those that dismiss women’s sports leagues as being lesser than men’s leagues.”
“Now, I am lesbian, and I have been open and honest about that from when I was playing hockey in high school. But I also scored 10 goals this season with 31 assists and a plus/minus rating of 30. And Grantaire has led the league with a 93 save percentage and 7 shutouts this season. And the fact that you would focus far more on any kind of relationship between her or I instead of focusing on those stats and what it has meant for our team and our sport is despicable.”
A reporter raised a tentative hand, practically quaking in her seat when Enjolras turned the full power of her glare on her. “Does – does that mean that you and Grantaire are not, in fact, dating?”
The contempt was clear on Enjolras’s face and practically dripping from her voice as she responded, “Do you honestly think after all I just said that I’m going to dignify that with a response? It doesn’t matter if we are one way or another. What matters is the game that we’re going to play tonight, and that I look forward to clinching the Isobel Cup in four games.”
With that, she pushed away from the table and stood, ignoring the questions being shouted at her by reporters that had somehow recovered their nerve. Grantaire was bouncing on the balls of her feet and beaming. “Holy shit, that was amazing!” she said, turning and following Enjolras as she strode toward the locker room. “And like, I just wanted to say that I totally get it and totally understand.”
“Understand what?” Enjolras asked, a little distractedly.
“You know, everything you said,” Grantaire said, waving her hand in a vague gesture. “That it should never be about anyone dating or anything other than the cause, and I totally respect that. And I’m sorry for whatever role I played in perpetuating a harmful media narrative.”
Enjolras opened the locker room door and held it open so that Grantaire could go in first. “You know, I think that’s the most you’ve ever said in favor of the ‘cause’, as you like to refer to it,” she said mildly. “And I completely agree. Besides which, it’s none of the media’s business or anyone’s business that you and I are dating.”
Grantaire stopped in her tracks so quickly that Enjolras ran smack into her. “I’m sorry, what?” she said, her voice about an octave higher than usual.
Enjolras frowned at her. “It’s no one’s business that you and I are dating,” she repeated at a much slower pace. “Right?”
Grantaire made a noise like a squeaky toy being stepped on. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little, um, confused? I guess? Because, um, I – that is, we – are we dating?”
It was Enjolras’s turn to look a little baffled. “Um, yeah?” she said, pitching it as a question, since she wasn’t quite sure of the answer anymore, and she sat down on the bench in front of her locker. “What, did you think I just make out with you after every game we win for fun?”
Though it was clear she meant it as a joke, by the look on Grantaire’s face, that was exactly what she thought, and she slowly sank onto the bench next to Enjolras. “Um, yeah, pretty much,” she said, sounding a little dazed.
“Oh,” Enjolras said, clearly embarrassed, her cheeks flushing the color of red normally reserved for when she yelled at Grantaire for not taking things seriously during practice. “Well, I mean, I thought we were dating. We go out all the time—”
“As a team,” Grantaire protested, still a little dazed, though a very stupid smile was beginning to spread across her face. “Like, we all go out celebrating after wins…”
She trailed off when Enjolras gave her a look. “Yeah, sure, but we don’t all go out to dinner on a regular basis, or coffee, and everyone certainly doesn’t stay over and sleep in my bed on a fairly regular basis.”
Grantaire shook her head. “Combeferre and Courfeyrac stay over all the time,” she pointed out a little triumphantly.
“And when they do, Combeferre sleeps on the couch and Courfeyrac finds the nearest hot guy on tinder and goes to spend the night with him,” Enjolras said evenly, though she was beginning to smile as well. “Did you really not realize that we were dating?”
Shrugging, Grantaire ran a hand through her shaggy dark hair, an embarrassed flush beginning to spread across her neck and chest. “Honestly, I didn’t think you were really interested in dating anyone, let alone me.”
Enjolras shrugged as well. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re a massive pain in my ass, you drive me up a wall and you seem to go out of the way to nitpick and contradict everything I believe, but you’re also the best goalie in the league, and a pretty decent kisser on top of that.” She nudged Grantaire companionably. “Some people might even consider you a catch. But, you know, if you don’t want to date—”
She couldn’t even get the whole sentence out of her mouth before Grantaire practically tackled her, kissing her fiercely. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked finally. “This is all I’ve ever wanted. I just never thought this was something you would want.”
Enjolras grinned and pulled Grantaire down to kiss her just as the door to the locker room banged open, the rest of the team piling in. No one seemed to pay any attention to Grantaire and Enjolras making out on the bench, and when they finally resurfaced again, Grantaire glanced around, bemused. “Did everyone know we were dating?” she asked.
“Of course,” Feuilly said from nearby where she was taping her hockey stick. “What, don’t tell me it was supposed to be a surprise, because if it was, worst-kept secret, ladies.”
“Seriously,” Combeferre agreed, lacing up her skates. “You two are the most obvious thing ever. Besides, don’t you ever read an article about the team? You’re always mentioned.”
Grantaire rolled her eyes. “I mean, I know that,” she said impatiently. “And it’s not a surprise, or a secret, just…” She glanced over at Enjolras, her grin slowly widening. “It’s just really great and I’m really happy.”
Enjolras kissed Grantaire once more before lightly pushing her away and turning to her locker. “Alright, enough chit-chat,” she said, her tone turning business-like as she grabbed her sweater from the locker. “We’ve got a game to win, ladies. Let’s bring that Cup home to Detroit.”
“That’s my girlfriend,” Grantaire sighed happily, grinning when Enjolras glared at her. “And that’s more like it.”