Chapter Text
“Hey, Mare. It’s Sophie, I–I know you don’t answer your phone anymore. But I need you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything and I just. Fuck.”
-
There’s something to be said about being on the ice.
Sophie’s not sure what it is. Maybe the smell of new skates, or the sound the puck makes as she slings it across the polished rink, hitting the cool fabric of the net. She supposes it’s why she’d found herself staring out at the ice, lit up even this late at night.
A tall brunette leans against his desk, his name tag reading Terik, sloppily written at an angle. He stares at her with something like pity and concern. Her eyes are planted firmly on her shaking fingers, wrapped tightly around the opening of her skates. She knows if she looks at him, any semblance of holding herself together will break. Sophie just hopes he knows her well enough to know that she appreciates that he’d kept the place up and running for a few extra minutes.
Instead she laces up her skates and finds herself gliding in slow, big circles. It feels like second nature, once a movement so foreign now is easier than walking. Sophie shudders to a stop. If only that’d gotten her drafted. Nothing had. She’d sat there, pick after pick, round after round. Waiting and praying that she’d hear her name be called. She waited until the majority of the crowd had left, long after the cameras were turned off.
Sophie lifts her head toward the rafters, letting the fluorescent beams of light shine down on her face. She closes her eyes and wills herself not to cry.
She wasn’t good enough.
The thought had rattled around her head all night, as she’d quietly exited KeyBank Center, head low. She’d ignored her phone, which had been blowing up with notifications, even when she’d thrown it in the backseat.
She was sure she’d get hell for not staying at Harborcenter, since they’d rented it out for the draft, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d just needed to get away from the pounding of her head at the face of rejection. So she took the keys and started her emission, not truly meaning to find herself here. It’s a rink in the middle of the suburbs of Buffalo, not far from the event. When she’d played for Quinlin they’d visited this rink more times than she could count–each time the young brunet guy from behind the counter (who’s name she’d later learned was Terik) would give her a gentle smile and tell her to have a good time.
But now he doesn’t bother. He doesn’t tell her to get off the ice though either, just cleans up around the rink. She still doesn’t want to trouble him too much however, so after a few more times around the ice she steps onto solid ground, the heavy feeling in her chest once again returning.
She trudges up to the desk, plopping the worn skates on the counter, and Terik turns from where he’d been cleaning, giving her a sad grin. “Night, Sophie.”
She forces a half hearted smile. “Thanks.”
But her feet are glued to the cold floor, her entire body taking root at the only place hiding her from what’s happened. This place is safe and she’s not sure if she can leave quite yet.
“You know, I played hockey for a long time,” Terik said, his eyes twinkling.
Sophie tries not to seem too surprised, because he looks like he’d play. Broad shoulders, athletic build. But he’s young, probably not more than ten years her senior. She must not hide her startled expression very well, because he laughs. Standing, he palms his cane, and Sophie follows his gaze down to his left leg.
She’d noticed he’d used it occasionally of course, especially when he was on busy shifts up and walking around a lot. But she hadn’t really thought too much into it.
“I was pretty good, maybe a little bit sloppy at passing for a center. But I played in Juniors and had some real potential,” he sighs, looking out at the illuminated rink. “Right before playoffs I got in a pretty bad accident–I was partially paralyzed for six months. Despite the odds I learned to walk again, but there were no questions about if I could ever play again, let alone lace up my skates.”
He rakes his eyes toward Sophie, his whole face twisted in a deep kind of sorrow. “You’re a good kid, Sophie. I’ve seen that ever since your first tournament up here. Quilin knew it too. This shit sucks. Every single time you get back up you get knocked down again, especially in the eye of the public.”
“But pressure makes diamonds. And somehow I think you’ll shine above all the rest of them.”
Sophie can feel her eyes water, and all she can manage is, “Thanks, Terik.”
He nods. “You should probably head home now, Clarette will kick my ass if she sees how much overtime I just clocked.”
Words brew in her chest, her brain trying to scramble to find something meaningful to say. She opens her mouth, but her voice is too thick for anything to reach him. Terik just shakes his head and smiles. “Get out of here and knock ‘em dead.”
With that, Sophie turns her heel and walks out the door, some infinitesimal bit of weight lifting off her shoulders as she gets in her car.
-
By Wednesday, she’s racked up what must be hundreds of notifications, the majority of which being from Edaline and Biana. Even Biana’s half-brother had texted her, saying she’d clearly been snubbed and the League didn’t deserve her if they’d made such an obvious oversight. She hadn’t opened any of her parents' messages, other than her initial text, that she’d be away from home for a while and that she’d be fine.
That in itself made her feel guilty enough, but she couldn’t face her parents' hesitantly disappointed faces. She knew that when she’d get back Amy would probably chew her out for that, but right now she’d rather surf from hotel to hotel than make the nine hour drive back to Hudson. Instead, she’s been bouncing from town to town, observing some of the teams in the North Western division.
Quinlin had sent her an email a while ago about Ohio State, and she’d hoped she could keep her head down and get back to playing hockey. Big 10 isn’t the subtlest of options of course, but it’s a bit quieter than the draft. Sophie can’t help but hope that the press will move on in a week max.
When she walks into the locker room, however, she realizes she’s completely wrong.
A hush falls over the locker room, and a girl with dark hair and a steel-sharp gaze gives her a venomous grin. “Wow, finally decided to grace us with your presence?” There’s quiet giggles around the room, and Sophie feels her face heat up. She doesn’t say anything in response, just drops her gaze to the floor and makes her way to the farthest corner of the room. As she plops her bag to the concrete bench, she feels a tension building at the back of her throat.
She supposes that this is the new normal.
She hears Terik’s voice ring behind her ears. Pressure builds diamonds.
So be it.
-
Sophie’s slammed into the boards, both feet airborne as the wind’s knocked out of her. She scrambles to grab her stick, sparing a withered glance at the retreating figure who’d put her to the floor.
It’s her third practice, and if anything tensions had gotten worse. The Buckeye’s coach, Astin–a slim, tall man with his blond hair slicked against his head–had all but reinforced the teasing. And as Sophie finds her way to her feet, he doesn’t even spare her a glance, instead saying something to Avery, a starting defensemen.
Sophie’s covered in bruises, and one particular cut on her face from when Miriam had “accidentally” tripped her in the showers, resulting in Sophie’s cheek meeting a rather unfortunately sharp corner of the soap tray. Her teammates' eyes were calculating, waiting for her to fight back, fire off a snarky response, anything. Sophie still hadn’t given it to them, but her patience is wearing thin. Astin had talked to her once, something about her sloppy form when she shot–completely ignoring the fact that Avery, the very same girl who addressed her in the locker room, had very clearly jabbed her stick to hook Sophie’s hands mid-swing.
She coughs, shaking off what misgivings she has and focuses on the drill. It’s simple, a 3 v. 2 on the ice, defense against offense. There’s not even a goalie. Sophie’s received the puck once throughout the entire duration of the drill, and it looks like that’s all she’ll really get. So, she makes her way to the middle line, and grabs a puck from the pile. The two player’s she’s with are weak skaters, Sophie’s surprised they can even stay up with a stick in their hands. As Avery and another girl line up opposite of Sophie, an idea sprouts in her head. She looks to her left, then to her right, and skates forward, dancing past the first defender as her stick chops at Sophie’s ankles. She fakes a pass but Avery is unphased, as if knowing what’s coming next.
The girl opens her mouth to say something snarky, no doubt, but she doesn’t get the chance to say it.
Just as Sophie draws her into contact, she meets her eyes, forcing a mask of pure indifference on her face. Without even looking at the puck, Sophie curves a shot into the goal, right past Avery’s stick.
A whistle blows, signaling that practice is over, and Sophie can’t help the smug flush of pride that curls in her chest as she skates toward the locker room. No one says anything to her as she changes, except for a comment about her being a “stuck-up bitch,” from Avery, which only manages to lift her spirits more.
But when she lugs her bags out of the locker room, she sees Astin waiting for her, tapping his dress shoe against the polished floor.
She’s the last one out, and she can see the clear impatience on his face as he looks up from his watch. He attempts to smooth out his expression, going from clear indignation to a disgruntled frown. “Ms. Foster,” he welcomes soothingly, quickly putting up a pleasant mask. Sophie can only pick up a hint of disgust in his eyes.
She measures his demeanor and decides that a simple “what’s up” isn’t formal enough. Instead, Sophie gives him a forcedl smile. “Coach Astin.”
He pulls down the sleeve of his dress shirt, the powder white so bright that Sophie’s almost blinded. “I’m afraid that after reviewing your skillset, the coaching staff has decided that your play style doesn’t mesh well with the team.”
Sophie stops, frozen.
“We’ll have to let you go before our season starts. I wish you luck looking in the Northeast division.”
He doesn’t say it, but Sophie understands the meaning behind his words immediately.
You’re such a liability we wouldn’t even trade you.
“Maybe you’ll have luck overseas.”
Sophie nearly sputters. “The SDHL?”
Astin shrugs with a cool smile. “Just a suggestion.”
It’s a blow, and he bids his goodbye but Sophie still stands there, gaping like a fish. She’s not really sure what to do other than to stare at his back as he walks briskly away. Somehow, after what feels like too long, she manages to put one leg in front of the other. The only present part of her brain is thankful that there’s no one around her to see her like this. She’s not even sure if she’s crying, because when she stumbles her way to the parking lot the sky has broken open into a pounding storm.
She’s soaking when she slips behind the driver’s seat, throwing her duffle bag to the seat next to her. Numbly, she wonders what to do. She’s washed up. She’s been rejected from the draft, and she can’t even get on an average in the region. She was playing a higher level of hockey at the age of fifteen.
Half blinded by hot white anger, she pulls out her phone and dials a familiar number without much thought.
It’s only when she hears the voice on the other side she probably should have texted first.
“Sophie?”
Quinlin’s voice is warm but slightly concerned. She hasn’t talked to him in nearly a year, and he’d probably watched the draft, where some cameraman kept flicking back to her nervous yet hopeful face that slowly fell as each round passed. She hadn’t really expected to call her old coach, she’d only ever texted him when she’d missed practice really. But he’d done so much for her, and managed to calm her…less than patient temper. So that’s how she found herself talking to Quinlin Sonden once again.
“Um hi, Quinlin. I–sorry, are you busy or anything?”
He lets out a hearty laugh, and Sophie feels her face flush at the stupid question. He probably wouldn’t have picked up if he was. Still, he doesn’t say that. “I’m never too busy for my favorite player, what’s up?”
Sophie lets out a sigh. “I’m having a tough time after last Thursday.”
She winces as he lets out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Soph. Hockey people are shitty, especially with the press stalking their every move.”
She clears her throat, “Bucks let me go after three practices, the coach said I’d be better off playing in Sweden.”
“What.”
His indignation makes Sophie laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Jesus Sophie, I can tell you that asshole doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”
“That’s the only offer I really have right now,” she says, shrugging.
His voice somewhat breaks out as she turns onto a different road, but from what she’s able to make out he’s swearing a lot. She keeps her eyes on the road, but she tries to hold back her curiosity as she hears him shuffling around on the other line. It must be a full minute before he speaks again, but when he does he’s slightly out of breath, like he’d had to run around the room to find something.
“Listen I–I don’t really talk to Livvy much anymore, but when we do it’s usually about you or Biana,” Sophie nearly misses a turn at the mention of her ex-girlfriend. Quinlin had paused as if he knew that speaking her name would make Sophie short circuit. She manages to let out an affirmative hum as she ignores a flurry of honking behind her. “She mentioned that Biana’s looking at Cape Luna down in South Carolina, and their conference has had a big growth of development lately.”
She doesn’t say anything, but both of her hands grip the wheel tight, her knuckles white. “I know their coaches through a friend of a friend, if you want I can arrange something with their recruiting team.”
Sophie’s mind struggles to catch up with the offer. Quinlin is telling her there’s a chance she’ll play hockey again. And be close to Biana. She’d known in the back of her mind she was planning to attend a college in the Carolina’s, but she’d been so caught up on the upcoming draft that she hadn’t really thought much further than that.
“Are you serious?”
Sophie waits a beat before realizing how rude she sounds. “Fuck, sorry that came out wrong.”
Quinlin snorts, “I’m serious, alright. I’ll take that as a yes?”
She nods vehemently before she realizes he can’t see her. “Yes, oh my god yes. Thank you so much, Quinlin.”
“Of course. But before I do anything, I’d figure out what you’re doing with your friend first. Because knowing you I have a feeling there’s a long list of people that want to hear from you. She’s probably at the top.”
Sophie winces. “Yeah…you’re probably right.”
She can hear his smile. “I always am. Good luck, Sophie. You’ll figure this out. And for the love of everything good in this world please talk to Biana, I’ve seen Livvy twice and she’ll kick your ass for going dark if Bee doesn’t get to you first.”
-
“Sophie. Fucking. Foster.”
“Hi, Biana.
“Jesus fucking christ I hate you–give me two seconds.”
Sophie does her best not to flinch as aggressive rustling fills the speaker of her phone. She wouldn’t be surprised if Biana was trying to deafen her on purpose, but Sophie’s guess was that she was going to her “thinking spot,” which just so happened to be the roof outside her window. They’d gone out there quite a bit when they’d dated in high school. She’d been taken aback when Biana pulled her out her bedroom window during their first sleepover, but in Biana’s defense, it was pretty calming.
Finally, Biana’s voice crackled through again. “Okay listen you can tell me whatever you want but I’m going first.”
“Shoot,” Sophie says, trying not to sound concerned.
“First of all fuck you. “I’m fine” is not an adequate message to send your friend. Especially when you drop off the fucking map. Do you know how worried we were, Sophie? Edaline cleaned my moms’ storage unit. Do you know how much shit was in there? She color coded nearly everything in there. What the hell!”
Sophie cringes, “I’m sorry?”
“‘I’m sorry?’ Sophie, seriously what the fuck.”
Sophie takes a deep breath. “Listen, Bee, I’m sorry for being a shitty friend and leaving you in the dark with my worried mother who I was also a shitty daughter to, and I will make it up to you all, I swear.”
“Hmph.”
“Pleaseeee forgive me. Did I ever tell you that you’re my best friend alive?”
Biana lets out a heavy sigh, “That’ll have to do. Unfortunately, you owe me like four quadrillion favors. And…”
“And…?”
“You’re my best friend too.”
Sophie beams. “I’ll pay you all of them, I promise.”
“You better,” she grumbles, but then she trails off.
Biana’s voice then softens marginally, “Are you okay?”
Sophie can imagine the way she leans into the phone, pressing it against her ear like she’s hanging off Sophie’s every word.
She’s not sure how to respond. They’re never vulnerable like this, not even back when they were dating. She’s not sure she’s heard Biana’s voice more raw before. She clears her throat a few times, willing her eyes not to water. If Biana minds, she doesn’t say anything, waiting patiently for Sophie’s response.
“…I will be.”
Biana hums. “You know that’s not an answer, right?”
“I’m thinking of playing at Cape Luna.”
Sophie has to hold the phone away from her face as Biana lets out an ear splitting squeal.
“SOPHIE WE’RE COMING BACK TO THIS LATER BUT I LOVE YOU AND YOU’RE WHAT?”
Sophie laughs so hard that her jaw hurts, and Biana babbles along on the other line, oblivious to her amusement.
“Okay so, I have an entire tour set up already based on my interests, but I’ll help schedule yours on the way. What are you majoring in again, some math thing? Well, I’ve already met the quantum physics teacher at the west wing through a theater camp so I’m sure that–”
She cuts herself off abruptly. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”
“No! No of course not, I’d never,” Sophie says, her grin still wide across her face. Biana huffs, and it takes all of Sophie’s self control not to start snickering once more. She takes a silent breath in, “But, I do think we should talk about it in person.”
She can hear Biana smiling through her words. “That sounds great.”
She’s somewhat cut off by the noise of a notification, and Sophie sees that it’s from Amy. Her heart drops down into the pit of her stomach. The two didn’t really text often, her sister had only sent her one message after the draft, asking if she was okay. Sophie had of course typed back a quick yes, before realizing that Amy was probably pretty worried. As much as she joked that she’d had enough hockey for a lifetime, Edaline had told her that she still insisted that Grady turn on her game every weekend–which her parents happily obliged.
Tuning out Biana’s chatter about her plans, Sophie shakily opens the text.
I miss you, Eda and Grady are losing their minds right now. You should really text them soon
The three bubbles appear and disappear a few times, before Sophie’s phone buzzes and one last message appears.
call me 💛
Sophie feels like she’s swallowing a boulder as she looks up, staring out her car window. She’d been sitting with the engine off for something like a half an hour, willing herself to go into her hotel room. Instead, she’d decided to bite the bullet and call Biana, just in case she’d been waiting under Sophie’s bed to wack her with a bat or something. Thankfully, she hadn’t, but as their conversation winds down into tired small talk, Sophie realizes she has to make a decision. And though her chest is filled with butterflies as she gathers her words to speak, she thinks that this is the right one.
“Hey, Bee?”
Biana hums in response.
“Could you ask your mom if I could stay with you guys for a night or two?” She lets out a deep sigh, “I think I need to go home.”
-
Her nails dig into a familiar groove at the base of her thumb as Sophie waits underneath the patio of her foster parents’ home. She realizes now that she probably should have called before showing up on their doorstep at eight in the morning, but in her defense she’d pulled a last minute all-nighter, during which she’s known to make pretty questionable choices. She’d texted Amy last night that she’d see her soon, but when Grady swings open the door, drooping eyes and messy hair, she supposes that she’d been a little vague.
He blinks.
Once.
Twice.
“Sophie?” His familiar gravelly voice makes her heart swell, and she can’t help the lopsided grin spreading across her face as she lunges into his arms. Breathing in, she’s instantly home at the scent of his fabric softener and the slight tinge of lemon from the hand soap in the kitchen. If she hadn’t spent her time here studying Grady’s every movement–searching for any microreaction proving she didn’t belong–then Sophie wouldn’t have noticed the way that his shoulders dropped, a little bit of tension leaving his body as he held his daughter.
Then, he lets out a hearty chuckle into her hair. “Wasn’t expecting you, Kiddo. Your mother has been bouncing off the walls with anxiety.”
“So I’ve been told,” she says, fighting the urge to run back to her car.
Sophie pulls back, and she notes how her father studies her, looking for signs that she’d been more than dishonest on her phone calls about her general wealth and happiness. It’d only been six or so weeks since she’d seen him, but they both knew how quickly she could lapse into a period of forgetting to care about her wellbeing.
She’s sure he catches how dark the bags under her eyes are, but he doesn’t mention it, just beckons her inside and shuts the door behind her as she slips off her shoes. The entryway is just the same as she’d left it, the only difference is that everything was spotless. Shoes were arranged in perfect condition, every surface was dusted and re-dusted until in the morning light, it all shone with the yellow reflection of the rising sun.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she says genuinely. Her gaze rakes over Grady once more as he runs a hand through his tousled hair.
He gives her a warm smile. “You didn’t, Edaline’s in the kitchen making breakfast and Amy’s standing back and watching.” He scratches his head, “She’s uh…not picking up on it as fast as you did.”
Sophie raises her eyebrows, mind immediately going back to the time when she was fourteen and she’d nearly set the house on fire by microwaving a fruit salad–with the fork. “Oh boy.”
Grady snorts. “You got that right; she’s on probation right now,” He looks conspiratorially back and forth before leaning in with his hand cupping the side of his mouth. “This is the third fire extinguisher this week.”
Sophie’s about to ask a handful of questions, but commotion in the hallway cuts her off. Just as she stands fully, a fluffy blur of golden fur bounds forward, jumping up at her with an excited whine.
“Iggy!”
She pets his blocky head as he rubs his body against her, tail pounding against the wall as he tries to climb on top of her. She laughs, rubbing her hands down his back and looks up at Grady, who has a soft smile on his face.
“Grady?” A voice calls from the kitchen. “Who is it?”
He strides through the entryway and turns a corner to the kitchen, Sophie wandering in after him. He leans against the counter, and Edaline still has her back turned to him, drying off her hands from washing fruit.
“No one too special,” he says. And his gaze flicks back to Sophie as he gives her an amused wink. “Just our famous daughter.”
Before Sophie has time to blush at the title, Edaline whips around, and in a blur is wrapped around her. Sophie’s almost knocked over by the force of her hug, and she’s pretty sure her mother is stronger than Iggy. But she immediately puts her arms around her in return, and she’s surprised she doesn’t break down on the spot. Her heart is melting–or that’s just because of how tight Edaline’s arms are around her torso.
As if reading her mind, Grady snorts behind them. “Make sure to let the kid breathe, Eda.”
At that Edaline takes a step back, but she softly rests her callused hands on Sophie’s cheeks, scanning at her face. “I missed you,” she says softly. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Sophie responds, and by the look Grady and Edaline both give her, it looks like neither believe her in the slightest.
Before the two of them can say anything, a voice pipes up from the couch. “You really went above and beyond, huh?”
Amy’s peaking over the backrest, head on her arms as she gives Sophie an amused look. “I just asked for a call, you didn’t have to come all the way down here.”
Sophie hopes she can portray just how thankful she is that her sister’s just saved her from a complete grilling from her parents in one look. Amy seems to get it, and Sophie steps toward her, wrapping her in a side-hug.
Amy smiles, “I figure you’re staying for breakfast?”
Sophie leans down, voice quiet. “I’m lucky I haven’t been killed already, I’m not pushing my luck by asking to have Della’s pancakes again.”
“Good idea,” Amy says, wincing in sympathy.
-
“So…Cape Luna?”
In her mind, Sophie thanks whatever deity above that Amy’s here. She’d lucked out apparently–she’d just gotten a break from morning off-season because of a tournament. Without her there, she would have been left to blubber in the sounds of scraping utensils and shared glances.
“Yeah. It’s a great hockey school, you know.”
Silence. Edaline shoots Grady another look from where she’s sitting, and Sophie thinks she might just pull out all of her hair right there and then. Whatever telepathy her parents have isn’t fair whenever she’s trying to gauge their reactions on something. Whenever he’s alone, Grady’s like an open book. If he doesn’t like an idea he’ll say it out right–though he’s been learning to be less…frank. As soon as his wife’s in the same room however, it’s different. Sophie swears they could have full conversations just by looking into each other’s eyes. It’s adorable and all but also really frustrating when she’s trying to break difficult news to them.
Just as she’s about to shoot out of her chair and demand that they say something, anything. Grady clears his throat. “South Carolina is pretty far south.”
Oh. They’re worried, of course. They knew that if she’d been drafted she could have gone a multitude of places, some of which all the way across the country. But it probably hadn’t seemed real, Sophie hadn’t even thought through it that thoroughly. She can tell by Grady’s tone that they won’t put up much of a fight with this, but they like to keep tabs on her from time to time and…she’s not making it easy for them already. Mind you, this is all while she’s still within the same state as them.
Now it’d just be an additional twelve hour drive.
Sophie scratches the back of her neck. “It is, but Quinlin said he could secure me a meeting with some of the coaching staff down there. And I could get away from uh, everything.”
Edaline rests her hand on top of Grady’s on the table.
She’s winning them over.
Her mother narrows her eyes a little. “Isn’t that area known for having a handful of party schools?”
Sophie mentally cringes. Damn, tough crowd.
“Mom, do you know me? I’m the least party-er person I’ve met. Plus, Biana’s going there for theater.”
When they exchange another glance, Sophie fights down the urge to pump her fist in celebration. Instead she makes eye contact with Amy and winks; her sister seems mildly impressed at her persuasion.
In reality, Sophie hadn’t done much, Biana was simply her parents' favorite person alive. It wasn’t to say that they didn’t love Sophie and Amy of course, but ever since Biana and Sophie had grown close in high school, Grady and Edaline had immediately welcomed her into their home.
Even after they broke up, Biana would make a point to come over to her parents’ house with her moms in tow, and three months ago she’d even gone shopping with Edaline. Sophie simply shook her head and smiled, knowing that her mom was probably having a field day with a girly daughter.
“Well that sounds lovely,” Edaline says, snapping Sophie back into their conversation. “Are you two going to be rooming together?”
Sophie’s mind whirls at the thought. “I don’t know where I’ll be staying. Right now I’m focusing on one thing at a time.” She smiles. “First, that’s visiting the hockey team.”