Chapter Text
Sydney stepped into the locker room. Quickly, every eye turned to her, and she resisted the urge to fidget under the attention.
“Hey,” she said. “Uh, I’m Sydney. I’m the new wing.”
A few lifted their hands and waved, others murmured their hellos. It was stilted though, and the energy in the room was off. This is not exactly what she had expected from one of the better ice hockey teams in the PWHL. Well, better maybe was an overstatement, but still. The Bear had finished solidly middle of the ladder last year, and was predicted to follow a similar path this year. Sydney amended her initial thoughts. She had expected more from one of the ice hockey teams in the PWHL.
The trainer, Tina, stepped from behind Sydney. “This is Carmen Berzatto,” she introduced. “She’s captain, and our other winger.”
Oh, Sydney knew Carmen Berzatto.
Carmen stood up. She looked much like the press photos, and the interviews Sydney had watched. Though, a surprise was that she was a couple of inches shorter than Sydney, and much broader too. She put down her stick. “Hey,” she said. “Welcome.”
Her fingers were tattooed, Sydney saw. She shook her hand. “Thanks, I’m excited to be here.”
Instantly, she chided herself. Too eager.
Carmen nodded brusquely. “Tina will show you around, introduce you to everybody.” She then left the locker room quickly.
Sydney watched her go.
One of the most well-known names of women’s ice hockey, in the same locker room as Sydney. Sydney, on the same team as Carmen Berzatto, prodigal player, one of the best in the league, maybe in the world. Sydney certainly wouldn’t say that she was a fan, at least for how embarrassing that sounded, but she had a certain awareness of Berzatto, and her relocation from the Nordic leagues to the America in the last few years. She had already been to the last Winter Olympics, and was being eyed for the next one as well. Now for the last two years, captain of the Bear, of her hometown Chicago team.
A fair few number of the other players were also new, and Sydney took the time to get to know them as well. A few she knew, from other teams or just through acquaintance. The world of women’s ice hockey was very small.
“Alright,” Tina said, having shown Sydney around the centre. “Any questions?”
“No, thank you.”
“Alright,” she said. “We’ll start drills soon. Don’t fuck around, be there on time.”
Sydney blinked. “Okay.”
Tina hesitated. “And don’t fuck with Carmy, okay? She’s a bitch, but she’s our bitch.”
Sydney nodded. “…Okay.” That seemed like a fairly ominous warning.
Seemingly satisfied, Tina walked off. Apparently, the captain had inspired some degree of devotion from both the team and training staff.
It felt so good getting back into it. Sydney loved the feeling of being on the ice with a team, of turning the puck deftly on her stick. The sting of the cold through her gloves, the sound of ice being carved.
God, Sydney had missed this. Her knee felt good too, didn’t even ache as she stepped out onto the rink for the first time. She had always felt overly conscious of that though – the threat of any pain from her knee was constantly on her mind. It was not a small miracle that she had recovered the way she had, that rehab had worked, and she was able to return to skating. For others, her disasterous ACL rupture may have been career ending. Even Sydney had thought her playing days were over, for the longest time.
Sydney caught sight of the captain a few times during practice. She looked abjectly miserable, her mouth drawn in a tight frown as she watched the rest of the team. Sydney imagined what she was seeing in them – failure and underperformance, perhaps.
Sydney could see it in the team too, if she looked. Pucks were being hit into empty space, with no one to receive them. Players were crowding each other, without a real plan. Even in training it was evident. But there were glimmers of promise too, real skill and strengths amongst the team that could be used. Sydney used to coach the junior leagues, when she was still rehabbing her knee. She had gotten good at spotting the missed opportunities, and the potential that could be willed into life. She had also developed a precise skill of yanking brawling twelve-year-olds apart by their jerseys, but that was a separate thing.
Anyway, there was potential, at some level. Sydney watched a series of sloppy passes between three teammates that made her want to dig her eyes out. By the look of Carmen’s sour expression, she did too. But it was early in the season. Things could change.
Since the league’s creation some five years ago, the Bear had solidly hung in the bottom of the ladder, with little promise of anything more. Then, an abrupt change. New sponsors, more money. And the appointment of Carmen Berzatto as captain fresh from a Danish team, had brought great excitement to those who followed the game. Sydney recalled reading the frenzy of Twitter posts. She may have even contributed a few herself.
From there, the team had climbed the ladder, but not without issue. There had been rumours of discontent within the team, of players leaving early into their contracts, and training staff dropping like flies. That seemed plain to see for Sydney on the ice, even now. And despite that promise, no Walter Cup.
“Jesus Christ!” Carmen exclaimed abruptly.
Sydney started. Her puck slid away from her across the ice.
“Can any of you cycle the puck like you know how?” Carmen said, looking thoroughly irritated. The offending group of players paled and gaped at her.
“Here,” Carmy said sharply. “Emma, with me.”
She and Emma, the centre, completed a flurry of expert passes, too quick to follow. Carmy then gave a gorgeous wrist shot, which sent the puck into the back of the net. There was a moment where her face relaxed, and that sour expression disappeared as she skated along. Sydney watched and felt the urge to whistle in appreciation.
“There,” Carmen said, skating back. “Do it like that. More speed, more precision. Stop fucking it up.”
She then skated off the rink, stepping off the ice. There was a long moment of hesitation from the rest of the team, before slowly, practice resumed. Sydney watched Carmen disappear into the locker rooms.
Back in the locker room with the rest of the team, Sydney tried not to feel a creeping sense of dread.
“So where were you, before this?” Emma Longstadt asked, tying her curly hair in a bun, and turning to Sydney. One of the more senior players, they had run in the same circles for years now, but never actually talked. Good steady stats, she was a consistent stable of the team.
“Uh, a few places.” Sydney said, then listed off the number of teams she had played for since she was 16. “And then I got injured. That ended my last season.”
“Oh, that fucking sucks,” one of the other girls, Vanessa, chimed in.
Emma winced. The fear of every professional sport player. “Sucks.”
“Yeah, really did,” Sydney smiled faintly. “But I’m back.” She pulled on her shoes.
“I kind of remember you,” Emma said. “Did you play back in the Juniors tournaments, like 2015?”
Sydney nodded. “Yeah, I did.” Emma had played too, she remembered, a few years ahead of her. She had been obviously talented, and quickly snatched up by one of the few women’s hockey teams at the time.
“You were good,” Emma said. “Fast, and smart.”
“Uh, thanks,” Sydney said. She knew at the time she had also been one of the better players at the time, but she’d never been quite good at taking compliments. She pulled her braids back, and tied them over her shoulder.
“It’ll be good to have you on the team,” Emma said, and patted Sydney’s shoulder as she stood up. “And with a name like that,” she continued, grinning. “That’s a lucky sign, having a Sydney on the team, eh?”
“Very lucky,” said another of the players, passing by. “Three Stanleys – that’s triple luck.”
“It’s spelt differently,” Sydney protested.
“Still lucky!” Emma yelled as she left the room.
“Right,” Sydney said uncomfortably. “Lucky.”
Sydney pulled on the jersey, and felt nervous energy thrum through her limbs. She had always disliked this feeling before a game. Anticipation, before the puck dropped.
She was to start the game on the bench, and likely to stay there for the majority of the game. That had been expected – the coaching team weren’t going to start her on the ice on her first game. So she sat on the sidelines, and watched.
The crowd wasn’t bad. There was a good energy, and a fair number of people wearing the team’s colours. Her dad was watching online at home, despite Sydney telling him that it wasn’t worth it, as it was unlikely she was going to have any game time. He had always tried to make it to her games in Chicago though, and watched on his ancient laptop otherwise.
First third. The Chicago Bear were playing the Toronto Sceptres. The Sceptres were a strong team in the last season, and had not lost momentum in the off-season. Sydney, watching from the couch last season, had taken note previously of their strong defence, and a very speedy centre. They had expertly angled out the first line, and sent a clean backhand shot into the back of the net, past the goalie’s outstretched mitt. As the siren rang, the score was 0-1.
The second third followed in a similar suit. Another goal, 0-2. No gains were made by the Bear. Just as the siren was meant to sound, one of the Sceptres players was sent off for an illegal check. Minor penalty. 10 minutes. One person advantage to the Bear.
Sydney watched as Carmen mouthed something furiously to the winger, as they came off the ice. The other players too, looked tense and upset.
“Right,” Coach said, coming up to the bench. “You’re up.”
Sydney nodded, trying to not look too surprised. “Okay. Uh, great.” She pulled on her helmet and her gloves, and pulled the guards off her skates.
Sydney skated out onto the ice. The noise of the stadium surrounded her – the yells and calls of spectators, the booming voice of the announcer, and the tinny sounding calls of her team mates to one another across the ice. Alongside from her, Carmen and Emma took up position on first line for face off. Anticipation thrummed through her, as well as an excitement. Finally, she was back, playing the game that she loved.
The puck dropped. Sydney sped into action.
The play went by quickly. Until the final few minutes. Sydney made a few quick passes, seeing the holes in the Spectres’ defence. Finally, she made an assist across the back of the goal, to Carmen, who then flicked it swiftly into the back of the net. Goal. 1-2.
Carmen slapped Sydney briefly on the shoulder as she skated past, then went back to the centre line. No time for a celly apparently – she didn’t even look happy at the single goal. Sydney watched as she bent over the ice, stick in hand, eyes intent on play.
“Fucking nice hands,” Emma said, and banged the top of Sydney’s helmet. Sydney winced, smiling. “Very fucking nice.”
The rest of the game was at a stalemate. Despite efforts, no further points were gained on either side. As the siren rang, Sydney sighed, and skated off. Winning her first game back would have been a good thing, but the Sceptres had outskated them, undeniably.
Emma caught her, as she was pulling off her helmet.
“Next time, eh Syd?” she. “Not a bad start to the season, really.”
Sydney nodded in agreement. “Thanks.”
A few of the other players around her – Victoria, Danielle, Vanessa and Signe made noises of assent. A couple jostled her shoulder in a friendly manner as they went past, and Sydney reciprocated. She had forgotten the friendly, physical nature of playing in a team, had missed it really.
In the other corner of the locker room, Carmen was separate from the rest of the team, pulling off her pads with a morose expression. It was only when one of the juniors sidled up to her and tentatively said something, did she brighten, and said something in response, her head nodding in agreement with whatever was said.
Sydney noticed however, no one was going to touch Carmen on the shoulder, or jostle her as they went past. There seemed to be an almost impassable barrier between her and the rest of the team.
As the team was still in the locker room packing up. Coach walked in, hand over his eyes. “Decent, ladies?”
There was a chorus of assent. He removed his hand, and turned to Sydney. “Ready for the press conference, Adamu?”
Sydney’s eyebrows flew up. “What?”
He sighed. “Carmy forgot to tell you.”
In the corner, Carmen grumbled something in dissent.
“Do you have a clean jersey? Or a team hoodie?” he said, grimacing as he looked her over.
Sydney was still in her sweaty game gear, and felt disgusting. “Uh, yeah. Yes, I do.”
“Alright, you’ve got five minutes to clean up. ” he said, and clapped her on the shoulder. “Good game, Adamu.” He left.
Sydney turned to Emma beside her, feeling rather alarmed. “Seriously?” she asked, eyes wide. “Doesn’t the captain and the A do the media?”
“Newbies do the press meeting. It’s a team rule.” Emma said, grinning. “With Carm.”
Sydney looked skyward. “Right.”
Sitting next to Carmen, Coach and one of the assistant coaches, Sydney bounced her leg nervously. The press had asked her a few questions that were easy enough to field. Yes she was excited to be on the team. No, her injury was behind her. Yes, she was sad they lost. Even in her other teams, she had been media trained to the point of pain. She knew how to answer a question specifically enough to satisfy a journalist, and vaguely enough so not as to show the team’s hand. Though, it was hard to shake off the surreal feeling that she should not be here, answering these questions. Sydney kept disbelievingly looking up and down the line of people sat at the same press table as her.
Carmen herself answered a number of the questions put forward. Mostly answers of one or two words, but on occasion she would give an answer that was somewhat articulate. Sydney could not really remember her speaking at a press conference before, and couldn’t remember hearing her voice distinctly before either. But she had a nice, quiet speaking voice, and seemed to speak with a genuineness that Sydney liked.
Well, that only lasted so long. The next journalist stood up.
“Awesome Chicago Sports Podcast,” announced a rangy looking journalist, towering over the rest. “Question for Carmen Berzatto.”
Next to Sydney, an assistant coach groaned quietly, and put her head in her hands. Sydney looked at her curiously, then at Carmen.
Carmen looked up, and groaned deeply. “What the fuck is your question? Why people listen to your stupid podcast?”
Sydney started violently in her seat at the language, and stared across the table, appalled. No one else seemed to have her reaction though – indeed, no one else even looked surprised. Nor did the journalist, who scoffed and spat out his own quick reply.
“Hah! People listen because I speak the truth, dickhead. My question is, is your team planning on actually winning a game, or are they more focused on the magic of friendship or some bullshit?”
At this, Carmy stood up, the chair scraping underneath her. “Richie, you fucking low-grade podcast bro,” she hissed, cheeks flushing redly. “We will have a win.”
“Oh yeah, when?” Richie the podcaster bro challenged.
Sydney watched as the assistant coach started kneading her temples with her fingers. A look of resigned despair was shared between her and Coach. The remainder of the press looked a mixture of indifference and disdain, but there were no expressions of surprise. Sydney was beginning to realise this was not an unusual, nor even infrequent occurrence for this press room.
“When you fuck off and go bother another team, dipshit, or go and start sucking Elon Musk’s dick like you so obviously fucking want to.”
“Hah! You wish. I would love to go follow another team, but my podcast is for Chicago, not fucking Toronto, though I wish it was. I’m chained to this sinking ship, baby.”
“Jesus Christ, I’ll –”
Coach coughed loudly into the microphone. “Enough, please,” he said.
Carmen the hockey captain and Richie the journalist glared at each other from across the room. Sydney watched with continuing incredulity.
“But—” Richie started.
“Richie,” said Coach gravely. “Please shut the fuck up, and sit down. Next question.”
Richie lowered himself to his seat, glaring all the while. After a moment, Carmen did the same. She looked furious.
Sydney looked towards the ceiling. Maybe this was why the broadcasted press interviews that she had watched previously were so short. Half of it was cut for the gratuitous profanities sledged between the two of them.
Not for the first time, Sydney wondered what she had gotten herself into.
The conference ended with little else occurring. On the way out, Carmen coughed awkwardly. “Sorry.”
“Uh, that’s… that’s okay,” Sydney said slowly.
“No, It’s not professional, I know. He’s my cousin. Sort of. He used to play with my brother, before he fucked his back.”
“That… explains some things.”
Carmen huffed out a laugh. “I don’t talk to other press like that. He just… is so annoying.”
“Right,” Sydney said solidly. She wasn’t entirely sure what else she could say to that.
“Anyway,” Carmen said. “Good game. You played well.”
“Thanks,” Sydney. “So did you.”
Carmen shrugged. “Maybe. We still lost.” There was something despondent in the set of her shoulders, as she turned to walk away. Sydney watched her go. How miserable she looked, to be playing sensational hockey as captain of a top tier team.
Coach came out of the press room next. He followed Sydney’s line of sight, saw Carmen, and sighed.
“She takes a while to get accustomed to,” he said.
“Oh, no. She’s—There’s no issue,” Sydney said quickly. “I’m just excited to play with her. I used to watch her Nordic league games, a few years ago.” Over-explanation, and Sydney was painfully aware how much of a fan she sounded like.
Coach huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, Carmen’s special. Sometimes a special pain in the ass though.”
Sydney said nothing, though privately she was inclined to agree with Coach.
Regardless, Coach continued. “Carmen was the one who recommended you in the first place, you know,” he said.
Sydney’s eyebrows flew up. “What?”
“Yeah,” he said. “When we were first looking around, she brought up your name. Said we needed someone who played like you.”
“I…” Carmen had not even known of Sydney’s existence up until she arrived in the locker room on her first day. Or at least so Sydney had believed.
“Anyway,” he said, slapping Sydney on the shoulder. “We’ll see if she was right.” He walked off.