Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Huh, I was expecting a bigger house.”

Cassidy Hernandez slings a couple of bags over her shoulder as they begin unloading production equipment from the car. “Nope, that's not really their style,” she tells Loud Aiden.

She’s still not sure why she didn’t think before assigning both of the Aidens to the crew for this shoot. Over fifteen years at this and Cassidy is still making mistakes. Although, to be fair, they are the two best guys for the gig. Loud Aiden, for all of his annoying commentary, has an amazing gift for lighting and cinematography, and Quiet Aiden is great at picking up the candid moments and pulling out great sound. Cassidy had wanted their skills in particular for this piece

Aiden and Aiden seem to have a handle on loading the rest of the equipment on the cart, so Cassidy jerks her head at Ollie, and they walk up to the front door.

She knocks on the heavy wooden door and pretends not to notice how nervous Ollie seems. “You ready?” Cassidy asks her.

“Yep, totally,” Ollie responds, and Cassidy’s proud of her, despite the half-truth. If there's one thing she likes to instill in her interns it's that great people do things before they're ready.

After a few seconds, the door opens, and they get swept up by Eric Bittle’s warm, welcoming nature.

“Cassidy! You made it! It's so great to see you,” he says, inviting them in with a flourish.

“It's great to see you too, Eric. We’re so excited to be here.” Cassidy gestures to Ollie. “This is my production assistant, Olivia.”

Ollie flashes her a grateful look before moving to shake Eric’s hand. Cassidy is well aware of the uphill battle it takes to gain respect when you’re introduced as “just an intern,” as if these kids weren’t the most talented production students in the industry. Ollie especially has an issue with confidence. When she’s got it, she's great – a real natural – but she starts to make mistakes when she doubts herself. It reminds Cassidy a lot of herself, truth be told.

Ollie seems to be doing just fine though today. “It's nice to meet you Mr. Bittle,” she says cordially.

Eric laughs. “Please call me Eric, or better yet, Bitty. Everyone else does… well, everyone except this little guy and his sister of course,” he says wrapping an arm around a shy-looking young boy at his hip. “To them, I'm just Daddy. Now come on, Richie, what do you say to Ms. Cassidy and Ms. Olivia?”

“Hello, Ms. Cassidy. Hello, Ms. Olivia,” the boy mutters.

Cassidy smiles, crouching down to be more at his eye level. “You probably don't remember me, Richie, because you were very little the last time I saw you, but you're such a big boy now!”

“I'm four and a half,” he agrees, though still wary of the four strangers about to invade his home. It doesn't help that they're all dressed in their production blacks and look like a gothic funeral procession. “Are you here for the video?” he asks.

“Yep, that's us,” Cassidy replies. She turns her attention back to Eric. “Do you mind if we bring our equipment in and start setting up?”

“Of course not!” says Eric, leading them down the hallway and into the house. “Like I was saying in our back-and-forth, the timing couldn't have worked out better. We just finished the kitchen remodel, Jack’s obviously done for the season. And he hasn’t really started back up with his training yet. Plus, I don't leave for New York for another two weeks.”

“Yeah, I'm really glad this finally worked out. It's been a crazy spring for all of us. Congrats on the new show contract, by the way!” Cassidy says with a smile.

“Thanks, sugar! I'm beyond excited.” Eric guides them into the most gorgeous kitchen Cassidy has ever seen. It’s situated as part of a huge open floor plan with lots of natural light and sparkling marble countertops.

“Your home is so beautiful,” Ollie remarks.

“Thanks, sweetheart! It’s so nice to finally have everything done. We’ve been cramped into Jack’s Providence apartment since we sold our old house and started the renovations on this one.” Eric lifts Richie up and sits him down in a stool at the island in the center of the kitchen. “I'm just thankful we’re all settled before the season and school year start.”

Cassidy and Ollie set down their bags in a corner of the room, just as the Aidens roll in the cart with the rest of the equipment.

“Eric, this is Aiden, our camera op, and Aiden, the grip,” she says, introducing the two of them. They move to shake Eric’s hand.

“Oh good, that will be easy to remember. It's lovely to meet you,” he says cheerfully. “Now let’s see if I can drag the rest of my family down to meet you.” He walks to the base of a magnificent hardwood staircase and shouts up. “Jack! Marie! Company’s here!”

While Bitty is over wrangling the others, Loud Aiden pats the top of the cart and says, “Where do you want us to set up, Boss?”

Cassidy turns an evaluating eye to the space around them. When Eric rejoins them, she asks him. “Where would you prefer we do this? I think it should be fine to have yours and Jack’s sit-downs with the same background. And then we’ll end the day on some sort of family activity, like baking or street hockey or something. What do you think?”

“Hmm.” Bitty purses his lips. “Well, you should probably do interviews up in the trophy room. That would be a pretty decent background, don't you think?”

There's a groan from the stairs. “It’s not a trophy room. It's an office,” insists Jack Zimmermann as he plods down the stairs. Even though he's almost 40, he's still shockingly attractive, even if Cassidy has long since grown out of her starstruck stage.

“Of course it is, sweetheart,” says Eric, rolling his eyes in response to Jack, who joins them in the kitchen. “I'm sure Ms. Cassidy here also has an Olympic gold medal, a Conn Smythe trophy and several framed jerseys in her office, too.”

“None of that,” Cassidy agrees, “but I do have a New England Regional Emmy.”

“See?” Jack tells Eric, before turning to their small crew. “Hello, everyone,” he says with a smile. “I'm glad we were finally able to make this happen.”

“Thanks for having us,” says Cassidy sincerely, shaking Jack’s hand. She introduces her crew, and Jack gives them each a firm, warm handshake as well.

“Sorry about the finals,” says Loud Aiden to Jack. Cassidy glares at him, but Jack just shrugs.

“It's always hard to lose when you make it that far, but I’m still proud of how hard the team worked to get there.”

“Spoken like a true hockey robot,” Eric says, his joking words in direct opposition with the reassuring, sympathetic way that he's rubbing Jack’s back. They've always been a demonstrative couple, even before Cassidy knew they were together. Whenever they’re in the same room, they seem to gravitate towards each other, making contact in some small way or another. It's disgustingly romantic.  Eric continues, “But the worst part is that you're stuck with a short offseason with nothing to show for it.”

“I’ll always take a short offseason over a long one,” asserts Jack.

“Lord help me when you retire next year. You know that's a permanent offseason, right?” quips Eric

“Maybe as a player, but I'll be busy,” he responds with a smirk. Jack looks at Cassidy, and then at the crew. “This isn't really public knowledge yet, but I've accepted a coaching job at Samwell for after I retire.”

“Congratulations!” says Cassidy. “I was wondering if something like that was the case when I heard you had bought a house here in Samwell.”

“Yep,” replies Eric, looking fondly up at Jack. “Jack was offered the job, and it's honestly perfect for him. We decided that even though he's still going to play one more season with the Falcs, we wanted to get settled in and get Marie into the school here in time for first grade. Jack will keep his Providence apartment through the season and split time and commute, but then after that, we can really start putting down roots. After all, I can write cookbooks from anywhere, and I'm only in New York to film the show for a few weeks in the summer anyway, and by then Jack will be on summer break.”

“Aww man, I'll just miss you,” says Ollie to Jack. “I actually go to Samwell, but I'm going to be a senior next year, so I won't be around to see you coach.”

“Oh!” exclaims Eric. “You're a Wellie too!” Both he and Jack beam at Ollie. “Tell me, is the hockey team still the most annoying sports team on the campus?”

“It's pretty close between them and the lacrosse team,” says Ollie, shaking her head, coaxing a small chuckle out of Jack and a loud, lyrical laugh out of Eric.

“Daddy, can I have some water?” says Richie from the counter.

“Of course you can, pumpkin,” Eric says, moving around the island to pull a sippy cup from the cabinet. “And I've totally forgotten my manners. Can I get y’all anything? We have coffee, sweet tea, about a thousand gallons of Gatorade…”

“I'm fine for now,” Cassidy says, laughing. “Any of you guys want anything?” she asks her crew.

Quiet Aiden shakes his head no, as Loud Aiden says, “Just pounded a triple shot macchiato in the car, so I'm good, but if you could point me to the bathroom, that would be awesome.”

Jack shows Aiden the way to a guest bathroom off the kitchen, and when he comes back from the hallway, a young girl is standing at his side. “Dis bonjour, Marie,” he tells her in French.

“Bonjour, y’all!” she says, flashing them a gap-toothed grin. “Daddy and Papa said you're making a movie about them.”

“That's right,” Cassidy says. “They also told me that if you're good, then you can be in it too.” Marie grins even wider at that.

“Daddy said that when I'm bigger I can have a vlog just like him, so I have to practice.”

She's completely adorable and already has all the adults wrapped around her little finger. Cassidy is reminded of a few years ago when a video clip of her and Jack at a postgame press conference went viral when she said “Papa, your booty is too big” into a live mic. It became a Falconers fan joke and catchphrase that even got printed on t-shirts. Cassidy knows because her former Falcs TV boss – and current best friend – gave it to her as a birthday present that year. The card had said, Now that you work at ESPN, it’s not weird for you to wear this.

Only Eric seems to be partially immune to Marie’s charm. “You need to practice your piano before you get any more screen time, young lady. Now take your brother upstairs so the grownups can talk,” he says, lifting Richie from the stool and handing him the sippy cup.

“Okay,” says Marie, taking her little brother’s hand and pulling him bossily back up the stairs.

“Holy smokes, they are cute!” says Loud Aiden, returning from the bathroom.

“They really are,” Cassidy says to the proud Bittle-Zimmermann parents.

“Thanks, y’all. They’re a lot of fun at this age too.”

Cassidy grins. “Excellent, so we should be able to get some good footage out of them.”

“Oh, definitely,” assures Jack. “They have more personality than you’ll know what to do with.”

“A Zimmermann with personality? That's a new one,” Cassidy teases. “I’m so used to having to create a personality for you in post. I'm pretty sure that ability is what got me hired at ESPN in the first place.”

“Congrats on your promotion, by the way,” says Jack.

“We’ve loved all of the new 30 for 30s!” adds Eric. “You've done a fantastic job with them.”

“Thank you for saying that, but most of the credit belongs with the directors and field producers. I’m just the one calling in the suits and bigwigs for meetings.”

“Being a leader, you mean,” insists Jack. “And don't forget getting cranky, old hockey players to agree to do in-depth documentaries about themselves,” he jokes.

“That's no easy feat,” agrees Eric.

“I know you're joking, but it means a lot to me that you're willing to tell this story. Yours was the first name that came to mind when they first proposed reviving the 30 for 30 series this year. Then I realized I wouldn't trust anyone else to produce something that means so much to me and my career, so I assigned it to myself. It’s not easy dragging me back in the field these days. I only do it for the best,” she says with a wink.

“I wouldn't trust anyone else from ESPN to be here either, so I guess I could say the same thing,” Jack says playfully. “It will be just like the good old days, back when you were at Falcs TV.”

“Ah, yes. The good old days.” Cassidy turns to her crew. “Did you guys know that Jack here was one of the subjects on my first ever shoot as a producer?”

“Really?” says Ollie.

“That doesn't surprise me,” says Loud Aiden. “Weren't you an intern for the Falcs back in the day?”

“Yep. It was back before Jack had even signed. I was covering him at rookie camp.”

Jack chuckles. “I think I still have some leftover embarrassment from that week.”

“You and me both, buddy.”

“Why? What happened?” Ollie asks, a look of earnest curiosity on her face.

Cassidy glances at Jack, smirking slightly. “That's a story for another time. Right now, I need you guys to set up the lights and tripod in the trophy room, I mean office.” She ignores the half-hearted glare Jack directs at her.

“I'll show you where it is,” offers Eric, heading towards the stairs. Cassidy picks up her bag and walks with Eric up the stairs, her small crew following like baby ducks in production blacks. Time to get started.

Chapter Text

“Oh boy,” Cassidy Hernandez sighs, walking up to AAA Center, clutching a travel mug of coffee to her chest as if it were the elixir of life. It basically is. Call time is 6:00 a.m. for her, 6:30 a.m. for the camera guys. The rookies and prospects arrive at 7:30 a.m.

She has the entire schedule for the day, as well as the rest of the week, already printed out on her desk. She also has her production outline, equipment list, interview questions, and a packet of info about each of the camp attendees – with pictures! On paper, she’s as prepared as she can be.

It doesn't change the fact that she's already freaking out, and the shoot hasn't even started yet.

She lets herself in with her keycard, because the front desk security guard doesn't get in until 8:00 a.m. It’s kind of eerie, being one of the only people in an almost empty arena, but Cassidy kind of likes it, too. People would pay big money for this kind of access to the arena, and here she is getting paid to do it.

She climbs up the stairs to her desk on the second floor, only to find that Linnea’s already there, typing away at some email response. Cassidy has no idea how her boss and mentor does it. She arrives earlier than Cassidy, leaves later than her, and always knows exactly what Cassidy has forgotten to prep before a shoot. On top of that, she always looks flawless. She’s the embodiment of all of Cassidy’s life goals.

She sets her bag down on her desk, careful not to disrupt the organized rows and piles of paper she set up the day before. Linnea swivels in her chair to face her. “Good morning, Miss Field Producer. Are you ready for your big day?” she asks.

“I will be once I've finished my coffee!” Cassidy lies with a big, fake grin. She sort of feels like vomiting.

“Woo! That's the spirit!” Linnea cheers. They're the only ones in the office this early, and Linnea always takes the opportunity to make a ruckus when she can.

Cassidy reads over her notes one more time, trying to see if she can memorize 20 pages of information in the next hour before the official start of the Falconers’ rookie/prospect development camp. Every year, the team invites 25 draft picks, recent signees and soon-to-be free agents for a week of conditioning and skill building. For many of them, it's their last chance to prove themselves and make it the NHL training camp.

It's also a chance for Cassidy to prove herself as a producer, to make herself so valuable that the Falcs have to hire her at the end of her internship.

Linnea approached her a couple weeks ago with the assignment. Falcs TV has covered the camp for 24/7: Behind the Scenes for the past few years – nothing special, just some short segments and interviews that they can put on social media. However, the secondary purpose of the shoot is to get early footage of would-be stars and breakouts before they make it big.

“Who knows?” Linnea had said when she was first explaining it. “You could be gathering footage for the beginning of a Hall of Fame induction video one day.”

Usually, Linnea would produce the feature herself, but thanks to a record-breaking contract extension for Alexei Mashkov and a couple other big, secret trade announcements, she's going to be covering the real Falcs for most of the week, leaving the baby rookies for Cassidy herself.

Cassidy had been excited and honored to be trusted with this, to be in charge of a whole shoot on her own. But in no way, shape or form did she feel ready to dive right in to sink or swim. There is still so much she doesn’t know! The new camera equipment is mostly a mystery. Her interview instincts are practically nonexistent. There's so much information and so many contingencies to stay on top of. And then there's the locker room dynamic…

She’d never even been inside the locker room until yesterday, and now she's expected to navigate the sacred space of masculinity while a bunch of young, hunky athletes change and work out in there?

She reminds herself to breathe, deliberately poring over her many outlines, schedules and cheat sheets.

“So, have you decided who you're going to focus on?” Linnea asks her with patient guidance.

“Ummm…” Cassidy starts flipping through her player packet. There's a one-sheet for each guy attending camp, their stats from college or juniors or wherever they were playing before, a picture, even a Twitter handle for the guys who had them. Cassidy’s favorite part of this entire experience so far has been snooping on their accounts to get a “better sense of who they are.” It turns out, most of them are just dumb teenage bros who like hockey.

She stops on the page of the Falconer’s top draft pick for 2014, Will Stanford. “I want to focus on Stanford, obviously, since there's a good chance he’ll be playing in the NHL before the year is out. His stats are insane. And based on his Twitter, I’d say he even has some personality.”

“Huh! Good to know,” Linnea says. “It makes my job so much easier when they have personality. I'll take a Mashkov over a Marty any day of the week. Okay, who else?” she asks, looking at Cassidy expectantly.

The pressure of this decision is exactly why she had left it until now. They ultimately want to cover guys who are going to make it to the NHL and to the Falcs specifically, so a good bet would he to focus on the high draft picks. However, with the exception of Stanford, it's a boring bunch – not really Behind the Scenes material.

She furrows her brow, flipping through her packet. “Alex Dumbravsky should be a good one. He's the new Russian kid who's been getting a lot of buzz.”

“Good,” Linnea nods, approvingly.

They had agreed three or four guys would be plenty to focus on with just basic coverage of the rest of the guys at camp. So she needs at least one more.

“I want to wait and see about the other guys, see who stands out the first day of camp, but I'm really leaning towards Zimmermann.”

“Are you sure about that?” Linnea asks, her face giving nothing away.

Zimmermann is still a name that gathers a lot of buzz in the hockey world, but Bad Bob’s son has made it clear he wasn't going to sign with a team until after he finished his degree. And since there’s still a ton of speculation about where he was going to end up, it’s a bit of a risk to cover him, since he could he on another NHL team this time next year. But Cassidy has a gut feeling about him.

“I think he will be a good story. And I read somewhere that he turned down the Blackhawks Dev Camp to come to ours.” Linnea makes an interested hum sound. “Plus he has the whole comeback angle, so even if he ultimately signs somewhere else, I think people will be interested.”

Cassidy bites her lip, waiting to hear what Linnea has to say. No matter how many times she tells her it's “her shoot,” Cassidy knows that Linnea’s instincts and experience are going to trump hers almost every time.

“I think you've got a good plan there,” she says finally, and Cassidy lets out the nervous breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. “And if you can get Zimmermann to do an interview and say something good about the Falcs, I know Hockey Ops and Social will be all over that.”

“I'll do my best,” she replies, already freaking out about the prospect of asking any of these guys to do anything. She wonders if she can get away with working this entire week while breathing into a paper bag.

“So now what's your plan?”

“Once Cam gets here, I'll have him set up and lug the equipment down to the locker room, where we have a meeting with Brendan, the strength and conditioning coach at 7:00 a.m.”

“Don't forget to schedule time to talk to the coaches and trainers,” Linnea reminds her. And of course, that's exactly what Cassidy forgot to put on her production schedule. She flashes her boss a look of embarrassed gratitude and reaches for a pen to scribble down a note to herself.

“And don't worry,” Linnea continued. “I wouldn't have assigned this to you if I didn't think you could do it.”

“You wouldn't have assigned this to me if there was anyone else around to do it,” she retorts, only half joking.

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” Linnea responds in a sing-song voice. “You'll do great. Just stay aware of everything around you, and keep an eye on Cam. He’s easily distracted. And don’t forget trust your instincts.”

“That's easy for you to say. I don't think you've ever been intimidated or overwhelmed in your entire life.”

“Hey, I was in your shoes once, and I made it out alive.” That must have been before she started wearing cheetah print heels to work at an ice rink in one of the most male-dominated industries on the planet. Hardcore didn't begin to cover it.

“So all I need is to keep asking myself, ‘What Would Linnea Do?’ and I'll be fine.”

“Whatever works!” she responds with a wink. “Now we have 15 minutes until the camera guys get here. Why don't you throw away that crappy coffee, and I'll treat you to a double-shot.”

“Bless you.”

***

Armed with a few pep talks, a lot of caffeine, and a grumpy cameraman, Cassidy makes her way to the locker room, trying to bolster her self-confidence. The preliminary meeting with the trainers goes well, and they seem excited and willing to get mic’d up and to allow her to mic the players while they run drills. As a producer, Cassidy counts it as a victory, even though now she is freaking out about how she is going to get a bunch of 19 year olds to agree to wear one, and then how to get them to say something interesting once it's on…

She's freaking out so much about it that she completely bungles her first shot, missing the arrival of the players off the bus. It had literally been the first item on her shot list. As the boys start strolling into the locker room, she whips her head over at Cam to see if maybe he thought to film it on his own, but he isn’t rolling. His camera’s pointed uselessly at the ground.

Cassidy tries to keep it together, but to start off with a mistake like that really throws her. But there’s no time to mope. There’s still so much to do. She directs Cam towards the guys finding their lockers, seeing their name there for the first time, checking out all of the Falconer branded gear that they have to wear all week. For some of them, it's a taste of what’s to come; for others, it’s the only glimpse of the star treatment they’ll ever get. Only so many of them can make it to the NHL, after all.

Once they settle in, Brendan, the head trainer, addresses them all, welcomes them to camp, and gives them an inspirational pitch on what it means to have worked so hard to get here, to have the opportunity to be a part of such an incredible organization and all of that stuff. It's true; the Falcs had a reputation for being better than most when it came to player happiness and organizational values, but they’re still a relatively new expansion team. It's obvious sometimes that they don't have the history or the fan base – or the serious cash – that some of the more established teams have.

Cassidy listens to the speech with one ear, making sure her cameraman is getting decent reaction shots from the guys. The rest of her focus is directed at getting a sense of these 25 guys. Some of them are exactly how they appear on paper. Stanford, the number one pick, has exactly as much bravado as his twitter account suggests. He's already attracting a posse of other players, mostly low draft picks hoping to increase their stock by being associated with him.

Zimmermann on the other hand is still a total enigma. He is sitting by himself at the furthest corner locker – they're in alphabetical order Cassidy realizes – listening intently. He has a pretty bad case of Resting Bitch Face, but she can tell he's not really scowling because his expression changes as he listens to the trainers speak. He perks up a bit when Brendan starts talking about how they were all selected based on talent not reputation, how all that matters is what they show them right now and that any one of them, from the first round pick to the guy who barely got invited could have a chance to make an impression. Zimmermann almost even smiles at that, and oh…

None of the pictures out there captured the fact that Jack Zimmermann is super attractive. He’s always stone-faced or glaring in all of his hockey pictures, but here, in person, he’s devastatingly, distractingly hot. Cassidy seethes. Why couldn't he be missing half his teeth like most hockey players? She already had a million things she needed to keep track of in her brain. She doesn't need stupid, hot Zimmermann in there distracting her from the important things.

The trainers wrap up their welcomes and introductions, and then the players are instructed to get changed and be ready to take the ice in 15 minutes. A few of them glance briefly at the camera before just going straight for it and starting to change. Cassidy takes that as her cue to head outside the locker room to the players’ lounge that they had commandeered as an equipment area. They would wait a few minutes until there was less naked happening in the locker room, and then try to snag one of the guys before they went out on the ice and get him to wear a mic.

The problem is she waits a couple minutes too long. When she goes back into the locker room, twisting the thin microphone cable between her fingers nervously, nearly all of the players are gone. The only one left – of course – is Jack freaking Zimmermann.

She takes a few tentative steps towards his corner where he's sitting taping his stick.

“Um, Jack?” she says nervously, before she remembers to channel her inner Linnea, standing up straight and faking the confidence she needs to make people think she has any clue what she's doing.

“Oh, yeah, sorry I'm a bit late,” he apologizes, thinking that she's someone from the staff trying to get him onto the ice faster.

“No, no, my name is Cassidy. Um, Hernandez. I'm with Falcs TV. We’re doing a feature on development camp, you know, for the website and stuff.” God, could she sound any more idiotic? “I was wondering if you would be willing to wear a mic for a bit during the first part of camp.” She awkwardly holds up the tiny lavalier mic with the clip and the battery pack to show him, trying not to get the cable tangled.

At first, a look of panic sweeps over his face, and Cassidy flinches. She didn't have a backup plan if he said no. She would have to go out on the ice and try to grab one of the guys in front of everyone. Her heart rate picks up just at the thought of it.

“It's totally fine if you don't want to,” she tells him in a rush, trying to salvage the situation and put Zimmermann at ease. “We’re just trying to get the natural sound of you guys working out on the ice and talking to the trainers.”

“Uh.” He’s clearly uncomfortable and not 100% on board with the idea. “What if I don't say anything interesting?” he asks her.

Is that what he's worried about? Linnea had warned her that many guys don't like to wear the mic in case they swear or say something offensive or chirp inappropriately, but had said that most of the young newbies wouldn't have such preconceptions, that they would be excited to be in the spotlight. Zimmermann though had been in the hockey spotlight since birth. Cassidy has seen the baby pictures…

“You really don't have to worry about being interesting,” Cassidy assures him. She’s probably talking too fast, but she’s just so nervous. “Like I said, we’re looking for natural sounds, talking to the coaches, that sort of thing. Just be yourself and you'll be fine!” she tells him, adding in a healthy dose of cheerfulness.

“I don't know about that,” he says, nervously. “Most of my college teammates think I'm kind of a hockey robot.”

Cassidy laughs awkwardly. “Don't worry, it's our job to make you look good.”

After a long minute – made even longer by the fact that Cassidy can’t really breathe during it – he nods and stands, reaching out for the mic, and holy shit, he is tall. She has his stats on her cheat sheet, but 6’1” on paper is much, much different than 6’1” standing right in front of her. Her mouth goes dry.

“I'm going to need you to put this up underneath your shirt,” she tells him, her voice an entire octave higher than normal as she holds up the mic clip. She had practiced twice on Cam to make sure she didn't mess up clipping the mic to her subject’s collar.

However, she didn't practice what to do when a young, attractive hockey player whips his shirt off right in front of her.

Zimmermann stands there awkwardly, his big, stupid muscles taunting Cassidy from inches away.

“Um, no,” she squeaks, trying very, very hard to maintain eye contact and not ogle the young man she's trying to push a thousand feet out of his comfort zone. “I, um, I actually need you to put your shirt back on. I need to clip it to your collar.”

“Oh, right.” He stares at his shirt, mortified, and then scrambles to put it back on. They are stuck in the worst sort of contest to see who is more embarrassed right now. Cassidy can feel the heat in her cheeks as she waits for Jack to redress himself.

He puts his shirt on backwards, and has to take it off and try again. Weirdly enough, his awkwardness makes Cassidy feel slightly more at ease. This guy is likely going to be a millionaire before the year is out, but she is making him nervous. Ha.

Finally, Zimmermann gets his clothes back on, and Cassidy has to step in close again to weave the cable up underneath his shirt. She gulps, trying to avoid touching skin like a kid playing Operation. Her fingers fumble just a tiny bit adjusting the mic clip on the collar of his shirt. “There we go,” she says, stepping back. “Now I just need you to wear the battery pack on the back of your pants.”

She tries to hand the small square pack to Zimmermann, but he's already turning around, his hands stretched out, waiting. He expects her to put it on for him.

Sweet Jesus.

When Cassidy had been “researching” the camp attendees, she did not find a Twitter account for Jack Zimmermann. She did, however, find a Twitter account for Jack Zimmermann’s Ass. His butt was practically famous in its own right for being shockingly large. Yet even knowing that didn't prepare her for the “beauty of a booty” in person. It's a butt that Nicki Minaj could be proud of.

Cassidy panics for a second, wondering if it's too big for her to even clip the mic pack onto his pants. For most people, it rests comfortably at the small of their back; for Zimmermann, it’s probably going to stick straight out and perpendicular. Holy shit, it was a huge ass.

Cassidy quickly looks around the locker room, assuring that they are in fact the only ones in there. It would be a devastating blow to her professionalism and fragile credibility if someone came in her and saw her drooling over Zimmermann’s stupid butt. She takes a deep breath, and steps forward, reaching below the waistband of his pads to find his pants. It's hard to see, and at first she pulls back the elastic on both his pants and his underwear, to her utter horror. It was her first solo shoot and she was going to get fired for sexual harassment.

She quickly releases the inner band of elastic, which snaps back against Zimmermann’s skin. They both flinch. “Sorry,” she mutters, struggling to get the metal clip over his waistband. His giant ass was not making this any easier.

Finally, she gets it clipped and turns it on. “Let me know if it becomes uncomfortable and I can adjust it for you or take it off,” she says, as Jack turns back to face her.

“Sorry my butt is so big,”

To her utter horror, Cassidy squawks out an awkward laugh. “No, um, it's fine. As long as the pack stays on, you're good.”

It might be the most mortifying encounter of her entire life, including the time her pants ripped during the seventh grade talent show, but she takes an ounce of pride in the fact that she managed to get one of her targets mic’d up right off the bat. This feature might not be a total failure after all.

Cassidy heads out to the ice, where guys are already warming up. She walks up to Cam, who is changing out a lens just behind the bench. “Doing okay?”

“Yep, we're all good.” He smirks at her. “Did Zimmermann really apologize for the size of his ass?”

For a hot second, Cassidy panics. She had forgotten that the audio playback from the mic is going straight to the headphones hooked up to Cam’s camera. “You heard that?” she asks, rapidly back pedaling in her mind to try to remember if she had said anything embarrassing. The whole incident was embarrassing, but she's not sure how much of that would translate without the visual.

“Yeah, it was hilarious. I heard his ass has its own Twitter.”

Cassidy allows herself to smile. She must not have sounded too much like an idiot – at least over the microphone – or else Cam would definitely have chirped her about it. She replies, “It does. It's mostly just pictures and bad jokes about how it and Gary Bettman were separated at birth.”

“That's funny,” Cam says, tightening the new lens and handing her the other one. “Put this back in my backpack, will ya?”

Not long after that, Zimmermann and the last few stragglers skate out onto the ice for morning skate. Cassidy paces around the rink, checking on the players, making sure the camera is in position to get the good stuff and trying – somewhat successfully – to stay out of the shots.

“Are you getting any good sound from Zimmermann?” she asks Cam a while later.

He nods. “Not too bad,” he tells her sounding surprised. “He was helping out one of the younger kids, the skinny one who can't be more than 18.”

Cassidy nods. “That's Francisco. His 17th birthday is Wednesday, actually.”

Cam makes a disgusted noise. “These kids keep getting younger and younger and I keep getting older.”

“They even make me feel old,” Cassidy jokes, and Cam groans.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

“I'm old enough to be your producer for this shoot,” she slings back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, you’re the boss,” he says insincerely, rolling his eyes, and it stings a little. Cassidy had meant it as a joke, but it's been a struggle from the beginning to get Cam to take her seriously.

“Well, like I was saying,” Cam says, “Zimmermann was coaching that kid Francisco and talking about how he does extra work with one of his college teammates. It's good stuff.”

“Awesome. Now just get me some good shots to go with it.” It's times like this that Cassidy wishes she had the vocabulary and knowledge to explain what she wanted. For now, she would just have to trust her camera operator, despite the fact he doesn’t trust her, and learn as much from him as she can, even when he acts like an ass.

***

The next few days of camp go surprisingly well. Cassidy gets a mic on all of the guys that she's focusing on at least once, and she manages to get through the sit down interviews with the trainers without puking all over herself, which she considers a huge accomplishment.

On the second to last day, Cassidy is finally able to arrange a short sit-down interview with Zimmermann during his lunch break. It had taken longer than expected because, well, there was very little time to go find someone in the locker room when nobody was naked. It was like a constant barrage of dicks. Cassidy had become a lot more comfortable with herself as a producer over the past week – 12-hour days of trial by fire would do that for a person – but she's not sure if she's comfortable having a professional conversation with or around a naked athlete.

She finally catches Zimmermann, and the guy is a trooper, that’s for sure. Even though he's clearly miles out of his comfort zone, he agrees to the interview begrudgingly, and follows her to the lounge where they've set up a chair, lights and backdrop. They both have a moment of shared embarrassment when she hands him the mic, but he slips it underneath his shirt without incident, and Cassidy affixes it to his shirt deftly. It's amazing how much can change in a couple days.

Cassidy sits down in a chair across from Zimmermann, and they chat while Cam adjusts the camera settings.

“Thanks for doing this, Jack. We really appreciate it.”

“It's nothing. I'm glad I can help.” She can tell it’s not really true, but it’s a nice gesture.

Linnea had told her that eye contact was important during these interviews. The point was the make the interviewee as comfortable as possible, to feel like an old friend they could tell anything to. Cassidy has always been a good listener, so that part comes naturally, but no amount of natural ability or practice can make Zimmermann’s eyes any less blue and piercing. It takes all of Cassidy’s focus to keep herself from drooling. This would be a lot easier if he were less attractive.

“Can we test the mic?” Cam asks her.

“Sure,” she replies. “Jack, why don't you tell me about your favorite dessert?” It's her favorite question to ask for mic tests because people find it easy to talk about, and Cassidy thinks it gives her an interesting perspective on the people she's interviewing.

Zimmermann shifts in his chair. “Well, um, I don't eat that much dessert during the season, but one of my teammates at Samwell makes really good pie.”

“Hockey players who bake? Now that's a new one,” Cassidy responds. “What type of pie does he make?”

“All kinds,” Jack replies. “I think he does apple the most, but sometimes he does berry or pumpkin. He also makes good cookies. Chocolate chip, mostly, but he's basically made every kind I can think of.”

“Yum, he must be a good teammate to keep around.”

“Ha, yeah,” and his face makes a strange, soft expression, very different from the resting bitch face that Cassidy has come to expect from him, and suddenly it becomes Cassidy’s goal to crack this guy’s shell and find the human inside. It might not happen today, though she would try her best. But if Zimmermann signed with the Falconers, she would have plenty of more chances.

Cam taps her on the shoulder and gives her a thumbs up.

“Alright, Jack, it looks like we’re ready to go.” Cassidy straightens the papers on her lap, takes a deep breath, and begins.

***

The last day of camp creeps up almost like a surprise. It has been both the longest and shortest week of Cassidy’s life, but she has already learned a shocking amount. She catches herself easily tackling tasks that gave her massive anxiety just three days ago, and is extremely proud of the rapport she has developed with the young players. It's highly unlikely that most of them will remember her name or her face, but she will be following these 25 guys – her babies as she has been secretly calling them in her head – for the rest of their careers however long that is.

On the morning of the last day, she notices Georgia Martin, the Assistant GM, milling about the locker room, talking to the trainers. She’s incredibly well put together, wearing a pretty cream colored blouse and a navy skirt with matching heels. The combination of clothes and confidence gives her an air of powerful femininity that Cassidy has come to recognize in many of the women who have managed to be successful in sports. Linnea has it, too. Cassidy wonders if she’ll ever get there.

Although, she might be well on her way because she does another thing she could never imagine herself doing at the beginning of the week: she walks up to Georgia and introduces herself. “Hi, Georgia? I’m Cassidy, I'm with Falcs TV.”

Georgia shakes her hand, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”

Cassidy continues. “I just wanted to warn you that there will be a couple of cameras running around. We’ve been covering development camp for a feature,” she explains.

“Oh, I don't worry about that. It's great that you all are covering it,” she replies, and Cassidy is impressed with the way she is able to convey sincere interest and total nonchalance at the same time. For whatever reason, it makes her feel extremely validated, as if she has earned some precious time with the extremely busy Ms. Martin that she doesn't really have to spare.

“One last thing before I let you go,” Cassidy promises her. “I just wanted to check and make sure it was okay if we film your speech to the players for the end of camp.”

Brendan, the head trainer, had mentioned that Georgia would be addressing the rookies and prospects before they took to the ice for the last time that week, and Cassidy knew it would be good material. Georgia was well-spoken and clever, and always had a good, no-nonsense sound bite ready to go. She was also the one who had established relationships with these guys. Brad Barrows, the GM, might be the architect of the Falconers, but Georgia was the contractor, the one who was on the ground doing the legwork to get these guys signed. Cassidy is hoping she gives them a bite that can wrap up the piece nicely, since she hasn't really gotten a good one yet from her interviews.

“We’ll stay out of your way,” Cassidy adds.

“It’s perfectly fine!” Georgia responds with a gentle wave of her hand. “You're more than welcome to film the speech.” She pauses a moment, then adds seriously, “But you'll send me anything before it goes public though, right?”

“Of course! We were planning to do that anyway!”

“Okay, good. In that case, I have no problem with it.”

“Thanks so much!” Cassidy says and makes her exit before she outstays her welcome. Georgia is important, and Cassidy… well, she isn’t. Not yet, anyway. One day, maybe.

Georgia gives her speech, as do the main trainers and coaches. They are even surprised by a visit and Q&A with Alexei Mashkov, who Cassidy knows is in town to sign his contract.

The day is wrapping up, and Cassidy is beyond exhausted. Her muscles are aching as if she had been the one working out all week and not just watching other people do it. However, she isn't done yet. She walks around the locker room as the guys put on their skates and pads for one last workout on the ice, scanning shark-like for someone to get sound from for this last skate.

She's staring uncertainly at Zimmermann when Georgia of all people comes up next to her.

“Have you been getting any footage of Jack Zimmermann?” she asks, nodding at him.

“Yes, we've gotten him both on the ice and off the ice for an interview.”

Georgia hums thoughtfully. “Good,” she says, and Cassidy’s curiosity and interest are piqued. It's not her place to ask the Assistant GM why she cares so much about Zimmermann, but she has enough intuition to guess. “Can you send me his stuff?” she adds.

“Of course, I'll send it over once we've logged the footage,” she responds nervously.

“Thanks,” Georgia says, retreating back to her office upstairs, tapping rapidly on her phone as she leaves.

Finally, the end of camp arrives, and all of the guys pack up to leave. Cassidy is able to get Cam in position for a great shot of Stanford and Dumbravsky leaving at sunset with the Arena in the background. She fist pumps the air as she returns to the now-empty locker room with Cam.

“What a week,” she sighs happily, sinking into a chair. Being a producer is awesome.

Chapter Text

Cassidy sips on a double shot latte, excited for Media Day and a full schedule of shooting. She glances at her phone: 6:10 a.m. The first players don't arrive until 9:00 a.m., which should give them plenty of time to set up the multiple “sets” in the locker room. There's a green screen room, an interview room, the on-ice set, the commercial set, the Faceoff corner…

For the first time since she was officially hired on after her internship, Cassidy finally gets to work on a feature with the pro guys. She’s been paying her dues on Sponsorship and Community Relations shoots, which have been fine, but this is a total step up. The nerves are still there – the nauseous jitters in her stomach won't let her forget it – but if she’s good at anything now, it’s faking it until she makes it.

Linnea walks over, and Cassidy hands her the second latte she's been holding. “You're the best,” Linnea says, unleashing a dramatic sigh that morphs into a yawn. After a few minutes of complaining about how early they had to get up to be here, they sit down and go over the schedule and game plan for the day, internalizing the rotating stations of players.

“The Media Relations folks have agreed to escort and babysit the guys, so we won’t have to worry about getting them from place to place.”

“Thank god.”

Linnea nods and continues. “I'll have Mashkov and Zimmermann in the green screen and interview rooms, and you'll be doing the Faceoffs with Marty and Thirdy. Get as many of them done as you can during that time and then we’ll switch,” Linnea says, tapping a pen on her hot pink clipboard.

“Sounds good, boss.” Cassidy looks at Linnea excitedly.  “Did we get approval from upstairs to do the chest waxing Faceoff?”

“Ugh, no,” Linnea groans. “I could have pushed, but I'm trying to save my chips to see if we can do skydiving for the Christmas sweater video.

“That would be awesome,” Cassidy agrees, crossing out “Chest Waxing” from her notes. “But we can still do the water balloon one, right?”

“Yep. Between that and Bananagrams I think we’re all set.”

“Perf.”

Cassidy finishes off her coffee and checks the time again: 6:35 a.m. She wonders if she'll have time to take a lunch – and by lunch she means breakfast – break and promises herself that she’ll grab a protein bar from the kitchen before she gets too busy running around.

Of course, she ends up being way too busy for any sort of full break, but it's okay. It's a shockingly productive, successful day. All of the guys – even the ones who have a reputation for being grumpy – are in good moods, happy to see each other after all the time apart.

She has a brief weird moment when she introduces herself to Jack Zimmermann, or should she say reintroduces herself. She doesn't expect Jack to remember her – he's a big pro athlete and she was just an intern when they last met – and even if he did remember her, she tries to give him the benefit of the doubt and pretend she doesn’t remember the way they completely embarrassed themselves in front of each other.

Jack doesn't take the hint though, and turns bright red. “You were the one at development camp who…” he trails off, grimacing.

“Yes,” Cassidy finishes. “Luckily I've mastered how to put on a mic since then,” she jokes self-deprecatingly, taking the blame.

“And I've almost figured out how to wear one,” he tries to joke back.

Cassidy is still slightly intimidated by how hot he is, so she excuses herself and passes off Zimmermann and Mashkov to Linnea.

She’s thankful that Linnea had arranged the schedule with Media Relations so that the players came through the Falcs TV stations before they had to do anything else, like talk to the press or shoot PSAs. They’re loose and fresh, and Cassidy is getting some amazing stuff from them. Thirdy and Marty are hilarious and on fire, and they get through all seven of the Faceoff videos. It’s unheard of. Most pairs only get through three, maybe four. If she can maintain the pace on this with all the guys, they’ll have enough to release a video a week. Nikki in Social will be thrilled.

As they finish up their last Faceoff, Cassidy glances at her phone, tutting at the couple dozen emails that have come in, and sees that she has about ten minutes before it will be time to switch with Linnea. She sends the guys off for a quick break, reminding them to be back in ten, and gives her crew a fifteen.

Most of the locker room is dark – they had covered up the emergency fluorescents and had brought in their own production lighting for the shoots – but there is a spare light shining down on the small table they have set up like a makeshift desk. Cassidy had been planning to sit down and respond to some of her emails, but there is someone already sitting in the seat.

It's a boy who looks no more than 18 or so, and only seems that old due to his stylish haircut and preppy clothes. He's sitting in a chair, looking at his phone and surrounded by darkness, except for the single light shining on him. The light is soft and perfectly adjusted and has the effect of making the boy look positively angelic. It's like there's a halo reflecting off his blond hair.

“Um, hi. Can I help you?” Cassidy asks cautiously. Either this kid is a friend or relative of one of the players, coaches, or Hockey Ops staff, or he’s an intruder in a high security location. It would be bad to mix up those scenarios, so she approaches him warily.

“Oh! I'm sorry! Am I in your space? I wanted to stay out of the way while y’all were filming,” the boy babbles.

“It's fine. We’re taking a break anyway,” Cassidy replies. “What can I do for you?” she repeats with a guarded smile.

“Um, I'm a friend of Jack’s? Jack Zimmermann?” he says nervously, and Cassidy confused why it sounds like a question. “George let me in. Georgia Martin,” he clarifies, and Cassidy relaxes.

“Jack is in the green screen room right now, I think, but he should be out soon,” she assures him.

The boy nods, and looks embarrassed. “It's just that he forgot his lunch, and I wanted to bring it to him.” He points at a navy blue lunch bag on the table.

“That's nice of you,” Cassidy says, smiling. She doesn't say that they have a whole spread set up for the players in the kitchen. “Are you his roommate?”

“No, I’m just visiting for the weekend before school starts up again. I go to Samwell. That’s how I know Jack. We were teammates there.” Cassidy can barely concentrate on his words, because his skin just glows under this light.

She can’t help herself. “This might be super weird,” she starts, “but that lighting is really working for you. If you need a new profile pic or something, now might be the time to take it,” she jokes.

“Oh?” He sounds embarrassed, but pleased. “I was just thinking about how I might need to invest in a lighting kit. I have a YouTube vlog where I talk about baking and it's not like it's that big of a deal, but I've gained a bunch of new followers and well, I…” He trails off. “I'm sorry, you probably don't care about any of this.”

“No, no,” Cassidy assures him politely. “I got my start in video production doing YouTube videos with my friends, and now I'm a professional producer.” Associate producer, but whatever.

“That sounds fun!” the boy says, and Cassidy nods.

“It's a lot of work, but days like this are great!”

Just then, Linnea enters the room, followed by Mashkov and Zimmermann and a couple of their Media Relations handlers, none of whom really notice Cassidy or the boy in the corner except for Jack. The rest of the group heads toward the kitchen without him, but Jack immediately makes for the spotlighted table in the corner.

“Bittle,” he says, half warmly, half surprised.

“Hey,” the boy responds, smiling nervously. “I know I probably shouldn't be here but… ” He looks down at his shoes, and then glances back up at Jack. “You forgot your lunch.”

For a second, it's like neither of them can see Cassidy, and she takes it as her cue to step away. When she glances back, she sees them whispering together, leaning into each other like parentheses.

Huh.

Cassidy leaves them be. This might be her only chance to grab a bite, after all.

Later, after shoving half a sandwich in her mouth, she returns to the dressing room to go over a loose script and plan for the next couple Falcs Faceoffs with Tater and Zimmermann. The blonde boy has left.

As she adjusts a small wired mic to Jack’s collar, she does her best to start a conversation, to maybe to lessen the ongoing awkwardness between the two of them. “Your friend seemed nice,” she says, not looking at Jack. “Bittle, right? He was really friendly.”

“Oh?” Jack asks, and Cassidy looks up just in time to see him make a weird expression with his face. “Yeah, Bittle’s great. We played together at Samwell.”

Cassidy steps back, and starts working on Tater’s mic. “He told me about his YouTube channel. Is it any good?”

Jack scowls. “He still won't let me watch it.”

“Maybe he talks about you on it,” Cassidy jokes, but Jack’s face falls, like he hadn't considered the possibility, which is weird. Why else would someone not want their friends to see their vlog? Jack seems kind of jumpy after that, at least until he pulls out his phone and sends a few texts. Then he seems to relax, responding more easily to Mashkov’s many chirps. Cassidy hopes she didn’t upset him, especially since she’s about to make him and Mashkov race to see who can drink a slushie the fastest, and if he’s not annoyed with her yet, he definitely will be after a brain-freeze.

She keeps an eye on him after that, just in case, but he doesn’t seem too bad. In fact, he seems really happy, staring down at his phone during every break in shooting, a lopsided grin plastered across his face.

Chapter Text

Cassidy forgets to think about Jack Zimmermann’s vlogger friend until months later.

She joins Linnea, as well as Nikki, the social media manager, and Justin, the motion graphics designer, in the press dining room for an absurdly early dinner before puck drop. Something about the crappy food and the cacophony of voices, silverware and metal chairs scraping on the floor – so loud that it’s all but impossible to hear anything clearly from more than two feet away – makes it a perfect breeding ground for gossip. Professionalism gets left outside the door, and bitching, judging and TMI reigns supreme.

It's one of Cassidy favorite parts of the day.

Today's conversation has devolved into “who would you do?” from the team. It's a topic that comes up much more rarely within the Falcs organization than Cassidy would have expected before she started working here. It was a popular topic for her and her friends back when she was just a fan, but it makes sense. They actually get to see the players as human beings with character flaws and loving wives that make it harder to absent-mindedly objectify them – although not impossible. After all, they're still very young, fit and good-looking.

“God, Snowy is so fucking hot,” Nikki complains, showing them a picture on her phone. “It's really not okay for anyone to be that attractive without a license.”

Justin smirks at her. “The eyeliner really does it for you, doesn't it?”

“Fucking right it does. And why do hockey players always feel the need to use the bottom of their shirts to wipe their faces? Is it specifically to show off their abs and kill me?”

“Ugh, you're so right!” Cassidy agrees, sipping on a Diet Coke. “They have two perfectly good sleeves and about a million team-provided towels.”

Linnea scoffs. “They get a million towels and I can't even get them to upgrade us to a version of After Effects from this decade.”

Justin groans at that. “They didn't approve the request?”

“Nope. ‘Not in the budget.’”

“Sure, makes perfect sense that Mashkov gets a $100 per diem on top of his insane salary, but I can't get the tools to do my job,” Justin complains. “But, like, I'm not even mad.”

“Of course you're not,” Linnea teases. “Stop pretending like you wouldn't climb Tater like a tree if you had the chance.”

They all laugh. “Mmhmm,” Justin agrees. “His legs go on forever…. I bet he has a huge dick too.”

Cassidy chokes on her Diet Coke laughing and the bubbles come up and out her nose. It totally burns.

“You okay, Cass? Did Justin shock you?” Linnea says, smiling, handing her a napkin.

Cassidy wipes the soda from her nostrils. “My nose is burning,” she replies in a non-answer.

“So,” Nikki starts conspiratorially. “We know that Justin is Team Mashkov. I'm Team Snowy. Linnea?”

“Thirdy” she replies without hesitation, wagging her eyebrows.

Then Nikki turns to Cassidy with a leer. “What about you Cassidy? Who do you think is the hottest Falc?”

Cassidy’s nose is still burning, and the question is kind of embarrassing, but she answers truthfully. “I think Zimmermann is super attractive.”

Thankfully, they all agree, and Cassidy is glad she didn't go with her other choice – despite his missing teeth, Dumbravsky really does it for her.

“Oh yeah, Zimmermann is hella hot,” Linnea agrees. “His ass alone…”

“It's better than Sidney Crosby’s,” Nikki adds laughing.

“It's too bad he's gay,” Linnea continues offhand, and… what?

“What?” Cassidy repeats, out loud this time.

Linnea waves a hand, assuring her, “I didn't mean that in the ‘I think it's bad he's gay’ way, just in the ‘now we’ll never have a chance way.’ Except for maybe Justin.”

“How do you know?” Cassidy blurts out. A gay professional player is sort of a big deal.

“I don't really,” Linnea admits. “I've just picked up on a few things, and he pings my gaydar like crazy.”

“I hadn't really thought about it before, but I can see it,” Justin agrees, and Cassidy feels like up is down and left is right.

“Like what?” she asks.

“Nothing major,” says Linnea, so nonchalantly, as if they were just talking about what color socks the guy wore. “He just gives off this vibe sometimes, I don't know. But the biggest thing is that he doesn't have a girlfriend. The guy is a super hot, super rich professional athlete. He could literally have any girl he wants, but he doesn't have one, which suggests that there's some other reason why he can't have what he wants.”

“And then there was that weird thing during the WAGs charity auction,” adds Nikki.

“What happened?” Cassidy asks.

Nikki gets her best gossiping face on. “So Zimmermann does not publicly have a girlfriend or anything, and denies it any time anyone brings it up, but then he turned up to the charity auction – the one where the wives make baskets of their guy’s favorite things – with six pies he said were made by ‘a friend.’ No name. They went for over 300 bucks.”

And suddenly, Cassidy has a flash of memory, one of Zimmermann’s friend, the one with a YouTube channel devoted to baking.

“Plus, there were always those rumors about him and Kent Parson when they were kids,” Justin adds.

The conversation eventually steers to other things until they finish eating and it’s time for the game to begin, but the whole thing sits heavily with Cassidy until she gets home late that night.

The more she thinks about it, the more uncomfortable she feels about speculating about someone’s sexuality like that. It feels wrong, even more wrong than just talking about how big someone’s dick is. Especially since, well, Jack Zimmermann might actually have a boyfriend. All Cassidy can think of is the way he and his blonde friend had leaned into each other on Media Day, back in August. The two of them hadn't done anything – had barely even touched – but there had been a frisson or something zinging between them. And the kid had brought Jack lunch. For some reason, it seems like a significant gesture.

But it’s not like they were caught making out, and it certainly doesn't necessarily mean they were boyfriends. Maybe they were just really good friends…

Cassidy pulls out her laptop and guilty opens an incognito tab. She really doesn't like to visit this site – it makes her feel a little bit dirty – but her curiosity sometimes gets the better of her. A quick Google search takes her a website dedicated to the wives and girlfriends of professional athletes. Nikki had shown it to her a while ago, and they had guiltily eaten up every detailed morsel about the women dating and married to the team. The site was scarily intrusive. The writers obviously dig deep into social media to provide all sorts of crazy specifics about these women, and Cassidy had vowed to never check it again.

That had lasted about three weeks.

She types “Jack Zimmermann” and pulls up the page on him. The poorly written article doesn't say much. It mentions a college girlfriend named Camilla Collins, but it seems like they had broken up amicably during Jack’s senior year, according to their college newspaper.

It's the last paragraph that reminds Cassidy exactly why she hates this site.

After all his struggles with drugs, pressure and stardom, we wondered, is someone taking care of Jack himself? Any special girls supporting this NCAA scoring leader and Eastern Division points leader for the 2015 season? Apparently not! For now it seems, like Jack Zimmermann is still an eligible bachelor. Maybe one day soon some lucky beautiful ice queen will be able to warm the heart of this hunky hockey stud.

Cassidy gags and immediately closes the tab.

Never again, she promises, knowing full well she doesn't mean it.

Chapter Text

The final week of the season is one of the most exciting things Cassidy has ever experienced. The Falconers are holding onto their playoff chances by the skin of their teeth, each game more intense than the last.

It finally comes down to their very last game against the Schooners – win or go home.

The Falcs TV team is watching anxiously, cameras prepped and wrapped in plastic, just in case of a celebration. Unlike the players and fans, they don't have the luxury of being superstitious, of waiting until after the fact to prep for a win – or a loss.

The game itself is an epic nail biter. The Falcs tie it up on a power play in the third, and Snowy is playing like he has spidey senses. He’s coming close to the NHL record for blocks in a game.

It goes to overtime. Cassidy is hyperventilating. Cam is already sweating through his black Falcs TV polo. Throughout the arena, the thrum of nervous excitement crackles like electricity, too painful and too exciting at the same time.

The clubhouse staff stealthily hangs plastic over the lockers and rolls in a cart filled with ice and beer and champagne. Everyone is on their toes, ready to rip it all down and hide the evidence in seconds if Seattle scores first, but hoping and praying they won't need to.

Six minutes into OT, Cassidy blinks and it's all over.

The Falcs are headed for the playoffs.

From that moment on, it's utter insanity. There is no time to cheer and relish the win, Cassidy and Cam immediately rush out to the bench to document every celly, every hug and high five, every fan going nuts in the seats.

They shoot the boys putting on their playoff hats and their playoff t-shirts, the ones that in mere minutes will begin to be sold for way too much money, despite the fact that this is just the beginning.

Still, it feels incredible.

Eventually the players make their way into the dressing room, shouting and singing and clapping each other on the back. Some of the younger guys pull out ski goggles, and the vets chastise them joyously for almost jinxing the possibility of even having a postgame celebration by preparing for one.

“I've had these goggles in my bag since training camp!” Stanford shouts at them proudly. “I knew from day one we were gonna be here! And now we’re gonna take it all the way to the ‘ship!”

It's an amazing soundbite, and Cassidy is pretty sure Cam got the whole thing. She whoops internally as the players whoop aloud.

It's no surprise that Tater is the first one to pop the champagne, immediately spraying everyone in reach. He dumps an entire bottle on Snowy’s head, praising him excitedly in broken English.

When Zimmermann comes inside from his interview with the broadcasters, the game-winning goal scorer is given a hero’s welcome as no fewer than three of his teammates douse him with sticky-sweet champagne.

By the time the champagne runs out, even Cassidy is soaked to the skin. She licks champagne off her lips and thinks she could get used to the taste, excitedly flashing forward to similar celebrations after the Division Finals and Conference Finals, maybe even the Stanley Cup.

***

It ends up being their last champagne shower of the season.

The Falcs are knocked out in the first round.

Chapter Text

After the Falcs get knocked out, the energy in the Front Office deflates like a popped tire. Suddenly, instead of being in the middle of the excitement, covering a playoff team, Cassidy is sitting at her desk, faced with the ugly mess of her email inbox, filled to the brim with annoying things she had been putting off “until after the playoffs.” Well, “after the playoffs” had arrived and had brought the crushing reality of the offseason with it.

To add insult to injury, her paycheck gets a direct hit as soon as the Falconers lose. The department head of Creative Services and Marketing, Mitchell, calls her into his office the first Monday back and reminds her that they would be cutting her hours back to 15 hours a week until August when training camps pick up again. Mitchell, the smarmy bastard, tries to convince her it’s a vacation – a perk.

The choice between losing her apartment, selling a kidney or getting a second job leads Cassidy to reach out to every single one of her LinkedIn connections until she somehow managed to land a freelance producer gig for NESN. It's mostly field work, some in-studio line producing – good experience if she ignores the fact that she's only getting the fluff pieces.

Her boss there, an anxious white guy named Chad, is pretty hands off. They've only had maybe three conversations since she started, but the money is good enough. She won't starve at least. And if she has to work six days a week on the late night shift, whatever. Having nights and weekends off is overrated anyway.

***

Cassidy’s two-job summer is the same summer that “Check, Please!” goes viral, at least among Falconers fans. At first she had ignored it assuming it was a popular fan video or something – and if she admitted it to herself, it also has a little to do with pride and ignoring videos not produced by Falcs TV– but then her mom shared it on Facebook. If her mom is watching, then she should at least know what it’s all about.

She clicks play and immediately wonders why the guy in the video looks so familiar. He introduces himself as “Bitty,” and he “likes hockey almost as much as he likes baking.”

It plays like an episode of “My Drunk Kitchen” or one of the more hip Food Network shows.

“Today we’re making good old-fashioned comfort food – chocolate chip cookies,” Bitty says cheerfully through the tinny speakers on Cassidy beat-up laptop. “This is the same recipe my Moomaw used to make for me when I was a kid when I needed some cheerin’ up, and now I'm returning the favor. One of my friends needed some cheerin’ after getting knocked out of the NHL playoffs – on a totally bogus call by the ref, I should add – so I asked him to help me out. Y’all, meet my friend, Jack Zimmermann!”

Zimmermann slides into frame, waving dorkily at the camera, and oh! That's where Cassidy has seen this kid before. He's the same one who brought Zimmermann’s lunch to him that one day in preseason, the one who seemed to be on the border of “just a friend.” He had even mentioned having a baking YouTube channel that day.

Cassidy watches the video with even more scrutiny, trying not to read too much into the easy way the two of them move together, the fond, proud glances that Zimmermann is constantly flashing his friend’s way.

About halfway through the video, she gets to the part that obviously must have sparked this thing’s sudden popularity. Bitty addresses the camera, enumerating the many variations you can make on the recipe – using oil vs. butter, adjusting baking times, white to brown sugar ratios, fun additions like M&M’s or nuts – while at the same time, Jack is mixing in ingredients.

Bitty is only getting started on his lecture, when Jack tries to crack an egg into the bowl and ends up – very visibly, very obviously – dropping the entire shell into the bowl. He looks directly at the camera, then at Bitty, eyes wide in panic, and then rapidly begins trying to scoop the shells out of the batter. Bitty meanwhile is completely oblivious. Cassidy laughs out loud watching the huge NHL star delicately trying to pick out eggshells without his baker friend noticing his mistake.

It couldn't have been funnier if it were scripted. Jack finishes fishing everything out just in time for Bitty to look over at him.

“Right, Jack?” Bitty asks, in reference to some question Jack clearly hasn't been listening to.

“Um, yes?” Jack responds guiltily, stirring so hard that a splatter of batter goes flying out of the bowl and hits Bitty in the face. He makes a comically large shocked expression, and then Jack starts rapidly apologizing, his Canadian – his repeatedly accented “sorry” just makes the whole thing that much better.

After that, it's pretty straightforward. Bitty wipes his face, and they finish the cookies. They do the usual cooking show trick of pulling an already finished batch immediately out of the oven, and damn. Cassidy’s mouth is literally watering as she immediately starts cataloging whether she has the necessary ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies right this very second.

The end of the video is Bitty signing off with Jack's arm thrown comfortably across his shoulders.

“If you liked this episode, please subscribe. I promise y’all I have another special guest in the works for my next video. You won't want to miss it! Thanks!”

Cassidy gets now why the video has become so popular. It manages to do something that she and Falcs TV have been struggling to do since he signed: make Jack Zimmermann look human. This is a completely different Jack than she usually sees: comfortable, expressive, relatable. And his friend, Bitty, is totally adorable and likable too. She would probably watch his vlog even if he didn't have NHL guest stars.

She clicks around a bit and finds the actual “Check, Please!” YouTube channel. There she finds a new video, posted just an hour earlier. She clicks on it and watches a very similar episode, but this time, Bitty has Alexei Mashkov as his guest baker. Clearly, the kid is connected!

The Tater video is just as funny as the Jack one. Bitty keeps having to slap Mashkov’s hands away as he tries to sneak tastes of everything, doing so with the practiced ease that Cassidy has only ever seen from her own grandmother, an avid baker herself.

Cassidy finishes the video and moves to the kitchen. If the intention of the videos are to get viewers to bake, then they are certainly a success, she thinks to herself as she starts on her own batch of cookies to bake in her janky-ass oven. As she's stirring together the ingredients, an idea comes to her, like the jolting “ding” of a kitchen timer. She grins to herself, stirring even more vigorously as the idea takes form. As soon as she slides the dough into the oven, she hops on her laptop to start typing up her idea into a proposal as the cookies bake.

***

She pitches the idea to the Executive Producer of Feature Content at NESN the following week. She dresses up especially for the meeting, wearing a suit and heels, and not so much taming her frizzy hair as pulling it back into a severe bun with a kajillion bobby pins. It all has the added bonus of making her look about five years older, which she plays up to hide her relative inexperience. Chad sits with her and immediately starts talking over her instead of letting her present her own damn idea, but she guesses he's an established, trusted entity and she's a young freelance producer with a portfolio just good enough to get her hired in the first place. Still, it grates on her a bit.

But in the end, she is able to brush it off because Jim the E.P. likes it! He likes her idea, and is ready then and there to sign off on the budget for it. It had helped that it was a low budget to begin with, especially if they could get the athletes to do it for free, but Cassidy has that covered as well.

She addresses the men in the room, faking as much confidence as she can muster. “The ‘host’ or ‘talent” in this situation is still a student, so we won't have to pay him as much as an established personality. And then we can use the show to promote some charity, either a food bank or whichever charity the players support or both, and call it a public image thing, so they volunteer their time. It's a total win-win.”

It doesn't hurt that Jim is a Samwell man himself, and is excited to promote a fellow Wellie. When Cassidy plays the “Check, Please!” video with Jack Zimmermann in it, he laughs obnoxiously loud, and Cassidy cheers inside.

“I like this Bitty kid,” he says, pointing at the projection screen. “And I think a show like this could really help with some of our more problematic demos,” he adds offhandedly. Cassidy assumes he's talking about everyone except old, straight, white men –the people that the sports industry does its best to alienate most days. She holds in her sigh and just nods.

“Want me to reach out to him and see if he would be interested?” she asks, barely containing her eagerness to get the go-ahead on her very own project.

“That would be great. And talk to my assistant about setting up a meeting next week with a detailed production plan so we can start pitching it to players and agents.” He smiles emptily, already on his phone, responding to emails and hurrying off to his next meeting.

Cassidy gives herself a mental high five and heads back to her desk.

***

If there is one thing that Cassidy is really good at, it's internet snooping. On her resume she calls it “research skills,” but really, it's just snooping. She can Facebook-stalk with the best of them, and isn't afraid to dig deep into the depths of Twitter to piece together who was doing what, with whom, and when.

It probably would have been more professional to reach out to the Media Relations folks at the Falconers, request Zimmermann’s email, and ask him for Bittle’s contact information, but it's a roundabout and slow process. Besides, Cassidy really doesn't want to involve that many people yet in the preliminary stages.

At least she doesn’t send a direct message to Bitty on Twitter. That would be the quickest and easiest way, but by far the least professional. It's hard to come across as a “serious producer” with legitimate credentials in a DM.

Instead, she snoops. She vaguely remembers the kid mentioning that he was Zimmermann’s teammate at Samwell, so she googles “Samwell Men’s Hockey” and ends up on the page with the team roster. He's easy to find after that. There aren't any pictures, but one of the players is named “Eric Bittle” and his height is listed at a short-for-hockey 5’7”. Bingo.

She types “Eric Bittle Samwell” into the search bar and scrolls through the first page of hits. There's no mention of a YouTube channel, but there are a bunch of hockey – and figure skating! – tournament stats dating as far back as 2010. She goes back to the top and clicks on the first link, a Facebook page.

The profile is mostly private, but the picture is definitely the Bitty she's looking for. There aren't any more public pictures, except for a cover photo of four pies, but the info section confirms that he attends Samwell. And, Cassidy notices, there's a publicly posted email address. Jackpot!

She clicks back to her email and hits the “Compose” button, then settles into the process of writing, reading, editing, stressing over, rewriting and finally sending Eric Bittle an email.

***

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: NESN Feature Host Opportunity

Hello Eric,

I hope this finds you well! My name is Cassidy Hernandez and I'm a producer with NESN, at least for the summer. During the hockey season, I work with Falcs TV. I believe we might have met last preseason while filming our commercials and videoboard features.

I'm writing to you because my colleagues and I over at NESN have been enjoying your “Check, Please!” webseries; it's exactly the sort of sports-related content that our viewers are hungry for, if you pardon the pun.

We would love to adapt the show for a TV audience and are wondering if you would be interested in coming on board as our main host/talent. The premise would be very similar to what you have done already with Jack Zimmermann and Alexei Mashkov. The working title as of right now is “Pies with the Pros,” and we hope to shoot 4-6 episodes this summer to be released throughout the fall and holiday season.

Between your personal connection with Jack Zimmermann and our contacts with a variety of players throughout sports in the northeast, we believe we can arrange an exciting lineup of guest stars to assist you with sports- and holiday-themed desserts.

We are all very excited about the possibility of collaborating with you, so please consider the idea and get back to us some time in the next week with your level of interest.

I'm happy to hop on the phone to discuss any details and to answer any questions you have. If you are interested in moving forward, we can bring you in to our NESN offices and discuss a more detailed production plan in person.

Best,

Cassidy Hernandez

Digital Media Producer

New England Sports Network

***

Eric’s response comes in a day later, a disbelieving but resounding yes. They send a few more emails back and forth, and by some miracle, Cassidy finds a block of time when Jim is free and when Eric can come in to meet.

She stays late three days in a row finishing the production plan and politely harassing Chad to reach out to his player contacts to get at least a couple potential guest star names to suggest to the group. Baseball players are out, because they're in-season, but between football, basketball and, of course, hockey, they have a wide enough net that they should be able to wrangle a few good ones.

The following Friday, Cassidy heads down to the front desk to escort Eric in for the meeting. She finds him in the lobby, clearly anxious, but dressed smartly in a navy blue suit. He greets her with a wide smile.

“You must he Eric,” she says warmly, shaking his hand. “It's great to meet you. Well, officially,” she adds.

“Yes, I totally remember you now,” he says. “You offered to take my profile pic for me.”

“I did, didn't I?” Cassidy agrees, embarrassed. “Well, hopefully my next offer is a little bit better.”

“I'll say! I just about fainted when I read your first email. I can't believe y’all want to put me on TV.”

“It's a great concept, and we all really like your energy,” she assures him, leading him towards a conference room.

They sit down and make small talk for a few minutes until the higher ups sweep into the room.

“Eric! It's great to have you here!” Jim crows. “We love your show, and we’re so happy to have you on board so we don't have to steal your idea and get sued for it.” He laughs loudly at his own joke, and Eric peeks at Cassidy to see if he should laugh too. Cassidy keeps her face blank, smiling slightly; she's had a lot of practice holding in her eye rolls when it comes to upper management.

Eric follows her lead, and smiles. “I’m really happy to be here, sir. I was just telling Cassidy how I almost fainted when y’all reached out. I'm excited to show what I do to a larger audience.”

“We’re excited, too. Chad, do you have the production plan and budget?”

Cassidy prickles as Chad hands over the documents that she spent countless hours on, laying out every detail in such an idiot-proof way that anyone could pick it up, read the major details and sound like an expert – which is exactly what Chad does.

“We were thinking of doing four episodes. Premiere one each in October, November, December and January – Halloween, Thanksgiving, Holidays and Super Bowl. We are currently in discussions with Brady’s and Gronk’s people. The charitable angle is helping sell it some.

“Charitable angle?” Eric asks, looking at the curiously.

Cassidy interjects, subtly attempting to take back the conversation. “We thought it would be a cool idea to promote a different charity each month, either a food bank, or the guest chef’s favorite or personal charity. It's a small gesture, but especially if we’re airing these around the holidays, it's great PR for the players and network alike.”

“Sounds great to me!” Eric says. “Do you already have things in mind for me to bake?”

“I figured we would leave it up to you,” Cassidy responds. “Something on theme and not too challenging is what we’re going for. Pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving, Christmas cookies for December, that sort of thing.”

“And, um…” Eric looks like he's trying to find the right way to phrase his next comment. “As for athlete guests, do you want Jack to be one of them? Jack Zimmermann, I mean. I know he was already in the web video, but I know for a fact he would be willing to do this one.”

“That's good to know.” Cassidy looks optimistically at her bosses in the room. “A sure thing is better than a maybe who flakes.”

“If we get Brady though, we might have to bump him. Think Zimmermann would be okay with that?” Jim laughs at himself again.

“And sure, Jack Zimmermann is great, but do you think you could get Bad Bob instead?” Chad chimes in.

“Um, I don't know, but I can ask,” Eric responds surprisingly, looking a little put out.

“They're joking,” Cassidy whispers at Eric. Then she sits up a little straighter and says in a louder voice. “Speaking of our guest chefs, I had an idea for a potential athlete, someone who I'm pretty sure will be willing and available.”

“Who is he?” the Jim asks.

“She,” Cassidy corrects, and the older men gape a little bit. “I was thinking we could reach out to one of the NWHL players, most likely Hilary Knight or Amanda Kessel, since they’ve got the most name recognition.”

“Women’s hockey?” the Jim says skeptically. “They're barely getting started. I think we should focus on more established athletes.”

Cassidy ignores the subtext and delivers her practiced argument. “I've already done some preliminary asking around with the NWHL, and unlike the wishy washy answers were getting from the athletes Chad has reached out to, they're completely on board with the idea.”

Jim sighs. “I like your initiative. I really do. But if we’re already talking about bumping Jack Zimmermann, it seems silly to even bring someone like Hilary Knight into the conversation.

Chad nods, and Eric just looks between them quietly, but Cassidy holds her ground. “All I'm saying is that maybe we can get a lineup confirmed before we start talking about bumping people. If I'm going to be the one on the ground producing this–-” She turns to Chad. “I will be producing this, right?”

Once again, Chad nods, and Cassidy continues. “If I'm producing this, I would like to have guests that I know will not back out of things last minute. That's the downside of making this a volunteer thing, that players are notorious for backing out of this type of stuff, both for legitimate and selfish reasons. I would like to minimize that if possible.” She's proud of how steady her voice sounds, how logical her argument comes across.

“I completely understand,” Jim assures her, managing to be both reassuring and patronizing. “How about this: give Chad one more week to finalize things with the bigger name athletes, and then if we don't have a final answer, you can follow up with the NWHL. If they're a sure thing, a week won't change anything, right?”

“It shouldn’t,” Cassidy admits, accepting the partial win where she can get one.

“Excellent! Now that we've settled that, what's next?” Jim booms.

“Well, since we have Eric here,” Cassidy gestures at him, “I was hoping to discuss some of the logistical details about the show set-up.”

 “Ask away!” Eric replies. “How similar of a show do y’all want it to be to the webseries?”

Jim looks at Chad, who looks at Cassidy, so she answers. “I think content-wise, we want to keep it pretty similar. The on-screen interaction between you and the player is a huge draw. But we will have the added benefit of an additional camera and our amazing editors, so we will be able to do more with showcasing the food, doing close-ups, etc.”

“Really? That's so exciting!” Eric lights up.

“I had a question about the set,” Chad pipes up. “Did you use a professional kitchen for the online videos?” he asks Eric. “Would we be able to use the same location for this shoot?”

“Um…” Eric laughs nervously. “I actually filmed those in Jack’s kitchen. I've been staying with him this summer because I'm working in a local bakery and taking classes online.”

“That's generous of him to allow you to stay,” Jim says, almost patronizingly, but Eric just laughs it off.

“Yeah, it works because we were roommates before he was famous,” he jokes, but it feels rehearsed, like this is far from the first time he's made the same joke.

“Do you think he would let us shoot there again?” Chad asks, and Eric freezes.

“Um…” He looks like they just asked him to do the show naked, and that he had no other choice but to say yes.

“You know, it would probably be better to shoot it on some sort of set,” Cassidy interrupts. “It would give us more camera maneuverability. Either that or find a larger kitchen.” She turns to Eric. “From what I remember from the original videos, Jack’s kitchen is nice, but not that big. And I wouldn't want to impose on you both for a week.”

Luckily, the higher-ups seem to agree, and Eric looks extremely grateful.  “As long as there's an oven, I should be fine,” Eric says.

They go over a few more ideas and details – including potential filming dates that would work with Eric’s school schedule and Cassidy’s return to Falcs TV on a more full time basis – before ending the meeting.

“Our legal department will send you a contract and offer letter early next week with instructions and deadlines. Feel free to email us if you have any other questions,” Jim says, shaking Eric’s hand briskly.

“I'll walk you out,” Cassidy offers, leading the way out.

“I still can't believe this,” Eric mutters, half to himself as they walk through the maze-like NESN hallways.

Cassidy smiles at him warmly, and it's not even her fake, effusive producer smile. She’s genuinely excited about this kid and this project. “You’d better believe it. Given the timing on this, we’ll be filming before you know it.”

“Goodness. Me…on TV!” He giggles in happy disbelief. “Do you really think Gronk will agree to do it? Because I do not know if I can handle that.”

“We’ll see,” Cassidy laughs. They make their way back to the lobby, and she bids him goodbye, handing him her business card – like a bad as professional, that never got old. “We’ll be in touch next week. Thank you again for coming in.”

“It was my pleasure,” Eric insists. “I can't wait to see what y’all can do.”

***

The following week is a vicious, but all-too-common reminder of the first lesson Cassidy ever learned working in sports production: never get too attached to a project, because you never know when someone will decide to cut it at the last minute.

When she finally gets the contract from legal, the details confuse her. Instead of outlining four thirty-minute episodes, the contract is for one hour-long special.

Cassidy jumps up from her desk and storms over to Chad’s office. “Were you going to tell me you changed the show?”

He has the decency to look guilty at least. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, but I think as the producer I deserve to know and to be part of the conversations.”

“If it makes you feel better, I didn't have a say either. This came directly from Jim. It’s a budgetary thing.”

She exhales, refusing to let her annoyance blow over into fury. It's always the budget. “I hope Eric agrees to it now,” she warns instead.

“Well, if he doesn't, we don't do it,” Chad assures her, as if that will make her feel better. “Less work for you.”

“Ha, yeah,” she replies coldly, turning away before he tries and fails to make her feel better.

She sends along the revised contract with a polite, apologetic note about the changes to Eric, and thankfully, he doesn't seem upset at all about it.

But Cassidy is. The reduction of airtime feels like a slap in the face. It's a clear indication that they don’t have enough faith in her or the project – and that they aren't confident they can sell the ad time – to produce the show they originally discussed.

At least it hasn't been canceled, thank goodness, but she still reminds herself never to get too invested.

Chapter Text

Because of the nature of the schedules involved, Cassidy has to move quickly on the production plan for Pies with the Pros. The athletes all start training camp at the beginning of August, right around the same time Eric has to return to school. She schedules the shoot for three days the last week of July. It’s a limited window, and not even close to enough time, but it’s all she’s going to get.

Although she's gotten the hang of field producing, a scripted cooking show is a whole separate beast. Luckily, Eric has been an amazing help. He sends back his contract with a list of six potential recipes ranked in order of difficulty. He sends her his original scripts for the “Check, Please!” videos and works with her to revise and rewrite them to work for an hour-long TV special.

It helps make up for the fact that she is getting practically no guidance from her bosses at NESN. Chad did deliver in getting the creative and charismatic Martellus Bennett, the Patriots’ new tight end, to be a guest on the show. He’s a whopping 6’6”, which sends Cassidy into a brief panic as she tries to figure out how she's going to be able to frame up him and Eric together in the same shot. Eric will probably have to stand on an apple box…

But other than arranging one – albeit excellent – guest, Chad has been hands off, and Jim has been too busy to really pay her much attention. They are so unresponsive that Cassidy just goes ahead and reaches out to Jack Zimmermann and Hilary Knight as the final two guests.

Linnea, thank goodness, allows Cassidy to talk her through the shoot over Gchat. She’s getting better at thinking of every contingency, but it still helps to have someone with more experience to bounce ideas off and to get advice, especially someone who genuinely cares whether she succeeds or not. It makes her feel a little guilty that she's cutting into her hours at the Falcs to work on the show, but then she remembers it's the Falcs’ fault she has to split her time anyway. Besides, it beats staring at her computer and refreshing her inbox, waiting for other people to email her back.

***

Cassidy has to get up at the ass-crack of dawn on the first day of shooting to go pick up coffee and donuts for the crew, but at least it means that she’s already extremely caffeinated by the time she gets to set.

The “set” is a makeshift kitchen set up in the space usually reserved for the hockey postgame show. Cassidy went ahead and hired a professional props and set dresser person – budget be damned, Jim – so it all looks gorgeous. Even Eric thinks so when he arrives – an hour early – to set, armed with a huge assortment of freshly baked muffins.

“This is so fancy! I can't believe we're doing this!” he exclaims.

“I can't believe you made these!” Cassidy replies, picking the top off a blueberry muffin. “This is above and beyond.”

Eric waves her off. “It was nothing. Besides, I bake when I get nervous,” he admits. “I don't want to screw up.”

“You're going to do great!” she assures him. They chat about the day to come, interrupted by occasional questions from the crew, until Cassidy sends Eric off to hair and makeup.

The hustle and bustle of a shoot always makes Cassidy feel in her element. She briefly acknowledges how much things have changed in the past couple years, where something like this would cause her to pass out from nerves. At some point things shifted, because now she’s like an adrenaline junkie: the fear and terror are still there, but now they’re invigorating, not paralyzing.

Once it seems like everyone is more or less ready to start, she gathers the crew and Eric onto the main set and addresses the group. “I just wanted to say thank you all for being here and for all of your hard work so far. I'm excited about this project and for an extremely productive three days of shooting. Does everyone have a production schedule?”

Most people nod in assent, and the intern, Allie, passes out copies to the rest of them. “Before we get started, I have a few reminders,” Cassidy continues. “First off, now that everyone has had a taste of Eric’s cooking, I feel an even stronger need to remind everyone to not eat the food for filming until after we have wrapped for the day.” The crew chuckles, and Eric grins bashfully. “We have a craft table set up with snacks and coffee that will be refreshed throughout the day, and we will break for lunch at 1:30, so seriously, hands off the baked goods.”

Once the murmurs and laughter quiet again, she continues. “Secondly, I am sure this won't be a problem with this crew in particular, since you are all true professionals…”  This wasn’t necessarily true. She knows for a fact that most of the men here are whiners and grouches, the last-string guys who weren’t booked on other gigs, but she believes people will rise to the bar she sets for them. Most of the time. But just in case, it’s better to be firm with the ground rules right off the bat. “In case it wasn't obvious, please don't ask the athletes for photos or autographs. They are here to do a job, same as you, and our professionalism will make them more likely to work with us in the future. ”

Cassidy looks seriously at the crew, most of whom are men ten or twenty years her senior, and hopes that they are of the I've been doing this job so long that I don't care about bothering famous people type and not the I've been doing this job so long that I don't care about this young, dumb producer and will bother the athletes if I feel like it variety.

“By all means, be friendly and polite,” she continues, “but I find out about any obnoxious or offensive behavior, I'm going to have to report it.” Everyone sort of shuffles silently, and Cassidy feels horribly awkward, like she always does when she goes into “responsible producer” mode. But at the end of the day, she would easily trade some crusty old guys calling her a bitch behind her back than having the shoot go poorly.

“Alright, thanks everyone! Places in five!” she finishes, raising her open hand and wiggling her five fingers as an additional reminder.

She walks over to Eric and smiles. “You ready?”

He laughs nervously. “I almost threw up in the green room, so I’d say I'm pumped.” Cassidy hums apologetically, and he adds, “I don't think I've been this nervous since my first college hockey game.”

Cassidy smiles reassuringly. “Well, unlike college hockey, if you need a do-over, we have that capability, at least to some degree,” she says, checking her production schedule nervously. “And besides, the first run through is basically a practice anyway. We’ll be focusing camera coverage on the actual food and food prep. We won't really be worrying about what you're saying or doing until we get everything in a wide shot the second time through.”

Eric sighs in relief. “Oh good.”

“And we’ll also have Allie on cue cards,” she adds.

“So you mean I've been memorizing all this for nothing?” he jokes, still looking a little flustered.

“No, you're memorizing so you can make sure we don't pull a Ron Burgundy on you,” she teases, and they both look over at Allie, holding several large posterboards covered in neat handwriting.

“That would be bad,” Eric agrees, grinning, and they move over to the set.

They run through a sound check, and by the end of it, Eric has the sound guy wrapped around his little finger. It doesn't take him long to charm the cameramen either. His genuine warmth and surprisingly sharp sense of humor endear him immediately to everyone in room. Cassidy can't wait to capture it on camera.

They start off with Eric’s opening lines. Cassidy steps back and lets Mike, an in-house NESN director, take over. He agreed last minute to help her out, which had been a boon to both the budget and Cassidy’s sanity. Hiring a freelancer had been out of the question, but Cassidy just didn't feel comfortable directing on top of everything else.

Mike put Eric in his spot, and goes over his line delivery, and before they know it, they’re rolling.

“Hey y’all! It's the holiday season, and that means three things: family gatherings, lots of food and sports! I'm Eric Bittle, and I'm here to show you some great recipes that you can share with your family and friends. And if you don't like baking, don't you worry! We’ve got sports! And if you don't like sports, don’t worry! We’ve got baking! And if you don’t like baking or sports, then this show is not for you! This is Pies with the Pros!”

“Cut!” calls Mike. “That was great, Eric. Now let's run through it again.”

They do a few more takes, because while every take is “great,” Mike always wants another.

“This is so funny, talking about the holidays when it's still July,” Eric remarks, as Ginny, the hair and makeup artist, brushes more powder on his nose. “I never really thought about it before.”

“Yep,” Cassidy replies. “I know wardrobe has a couple Santa hats for you and your guests.”

“Lord, I should make Jack wear one when he's here! That would be hysterical.”

“I'm all for it,” says Cassidy. “All we need to do is make sure it fits in Mikes ‘vision,’ and then we can make it happen.”

Eric laughs. “I want to say he’ll be mortified, but he might just go with it. He was a cat once for Halloween.”

“I can't even picture that,” Cassidy laughs, shaking her head. “I can barely get him to crack a smile when I've worked with him.”

“Don't take it personally. He just likes being behind a camera rather than in front of it.”

Before Cassidy can ask more about Jack Zimmermann’s apparent camera skills, Mike calls them all back to action.

Right then, Cassidy’s phone dings with the announcement that Martellus Bennett has arrived, and she removes herself to escort him to set. Bennett is gregarious and charming, not to mention a whole foot taller than her, and accompanied by his wife and daughter. They chat amiably on the way back to the set.

The first thing Cassidy does is introduce them to Mike and Eric. “Martellus, this is our director, Mike.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Martellus.”

Cassidy gestures to behind the counter. “And over here is the host of our show, Eric Bittle.”

“Nice to meet ya! Thanks so much for doing the show with us! I can't believe I'm talking to a pro football player!” Eric exclaims, rushing animatedly around the counter to shake Martellus’ hand.

“So I guess you like football better than hockey like the rest of America,” Cassidy teases.

“As if,” Eric scoffs. “But NHL players are a dime a dozen when your best friend plays for a pro team, but I grew up in Georgia. Football players might as well be gods,” Eric jokes. “Lord, you're tall. Are you sure we’re gonna fit in the same frame?” Eric asks, echoing Cassidy’s own concerns.

“Don't worry, we got you a box to stand on,” Cassidy assures him, and the whole group chuckles.

Cassidy leads Martellus and his family to the green room. She turns to him as he’s already making himself comfortable on a low black leather couch. “You can leave anything you like in here. It's secure. And help yourself to any of the refreshments. Ginny will be by in just a couple minutes to get you into hair and makeup.” She turns to his wife and daughter. “You two are welcome to stay in here or watch on set. We just ask that you keep your phones silenced during shooting.”

Ginny comes in right then, wheeling a clothes rack full of outfits. Cassidy introduces them all, and Ginny looks Bennett up and down with a professional eye.

“We have a handful of outfit options for you, if you want, or you can keep what you have on…"

Cassidy excuses herself and lets Ginny work her magic.

Bennett emerges half an hour later, and Cassidy brings him over to Mike for direction.

“We don't have any specific lines for you, so you don't have to worry about that, but feel free to interact and ad lib with Eric as feels natural. I think you two will bounce off each other well, because you’re both a bit snarky.”

Martellus chuckles, and Cassidy knows from doing her research that “a bit,” is an understatement.

“Snark? Me?” Eric jokes in faux indignation. “I've never judged anyone in my life.”

“Yeah, me either,” Martellus replies.

They are both grinning like they just took the last cookie out of the jar and successfully blamed it on the dog.

“Just keep it PG, okay?” says Mike. “This is a family friendly program.” He continues to explain the two different takes, one for food close ups, one for wide shots of the two of them. Then they reset the lights and microphones, and Mike calls, “Action.”

After Eric flubs his first line twice in row, Cassidy’s heart sinks. This whole thing is riding on Eric. If he can't do it, then they might as well abandon the whole endeavor. She's one step away from panicking – and Eric is too – when Martellus leans over and says in his ear, just loud enough for the crew to hear, “Just imagine the camera’s in its underwear.”

Eric gapes at Bennett for a moment, long enough for everyone to hear a loud snort from the cameraman on the silent set, and then everyone is laughing. Eric is doubled over giggling, and Martellus has his head leaned back with barking laughter. The whole crew is in hysterics, and Cassidy, wound tight from the stress of the shoot, can't help herself; she laughs so hard she cries.

Everyone takes a minute to catch their breath and calm down. Finally, Mike lets out one last happy sigh, and says, “Now that the tension is broken, let's make this scene our beezy.”

Eric laughs once more, takes a deep breath, and when Mike calls action, he launches into his lines like he’s been doing this for years.

The banter crackles and flows between Eric and Martellus as Eric explains through the method of making a pumpkin pie. Eric asks about Martellus’ favorite holiday memories, and he stirs the filling while animatedly telling stories about his daughter. The atmosphere on set is relaxed and fun, and at least one additional take is ruined by laughter. Cassidy can’t even be mad because it was her loud, roaring laughs that ruined it.

***

The relaxed vibe continues on into the morning of day two. Eric arrives with another fresh batch of muffins – lemon poppy seed, which he somehow had known or guessed were Cassidy’s favorite – and he cheerfully hands them out to the crew as they arrive.

Hilary Knight arrives not long after that. When Cassidy introduces her to Eric, they hit it off immediately, jumping right into hockey shop-talk as Ginny does their hair and makeup.

They emerge later, Eric in the same clothes from the day before, and Hilary in a red sweater with snowflakes on it. Cassidy is standing behind the set counter as a lighting stand-in, trying not to look like she's eavesdropping.

“... A bunch of my teammates drove up to Boston last season to see y’all play the Riveters. A girl on the Samwell women’s hockey team got drafted by New York, but by the end of it, I was 100% a Pride fan.”

Hilary laughs. “So you’re not just an Isobel Cup bandwagon fan then?” she chirps

“Not a chance! Though watching the Cup game was amazing!”

“It was something else, to win it the first time. It was the most exciting game I’ve played in since my first Olympics.”

“I remember watching y’all in Vancouver. I had just started playing hockey after transitioning from figure skating, so I was really invested in USA hockey. Although in 2018, I might have to root for Team Canada.”

Cassidy hears the surprise in her voice. “What? Why?”

“Oh! Just, um, if Jack goes, he’ll probably be playing for Canada.” Eric sounds shy, almost apologetic.

Hilary tuts. “Zimmermann? Yeah, probably. From what I've heard, he's like Captain Canada.”

Eric chuckles. “You don’t even know. His favorite boxers have the maple leaf on them.”

Cassidy can’t resist a slight peak over her shoulder at that. Eric had realized immediately how that sounded, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Hilary has one eyebrow raised teasingly. “Locker rooms,” Eric explains embarrassedly. “He wore them for important games.”

“Uh huh.” Hilary doesn’t even need to chirp him with words. She just nods with a smirk, and then Cassidy turns back towards the lighting guy before she’s caught listening. Hilary continues, generously ignoring Eric’s awkwardness. “Well if Jack keeps playing the way he's playing, Team Canada will definitely come knocking. But that's just the men. You can still root for us,” Hilary says playfully.

“I guess that’s true!” Eric responds, laughing. “I won't abandon ‘Murica that easily.”

When they finally are ready to start shooting, Hilary is much more focused than Bennett had been, but with no less of a sense of humor. She laughs easily and chirps Eric at every opportunity as they make chocolate dipped shortbread cookies.

“I can see why you like this recipe,” Hilary says, carefully measuring out the flour as the camera rolls.

“Why’s that?” Eric asks curiously.

“Because you're short,” she chirps back.

Eric’s jaw drops for a second in disbelief before gasping in fake indignation. “Excuse me, Ms. Knight. I'm average height.”

“Not for a hockey player.”

“True,” he admits, sighing. “I figured that out fast when I played hockey in college. That's right, folks! Hilary not the only hockey player here today. But I think that we’re just proof that ice and baking can go well together.” It's an improv’d line that Eric delivers with a charming smile into the camera, which, thank god, had gotten the whole exchange. Mike nods approvingly as Eric continues seamlessly into the next steps in the recipe.

The technical side of things is less seamless. One of the cameramen forgets to plug in a camera, and the battery dies halfway through shooting. It takes a whole 30 minutes to find the problem, fix it and reset the entire operation. Then Allie trips on a cable, dropping an entire carton of eggs over the sound board. Glen, the sound guy freaks out like Allie had dropped his firstborn child headfirst onto the pavement. Not only that, but everyone panics, worried that they had lost all the recordings from the past few days or that the equipment was ruined for good. Thankfully, they’re able to clean off the egg with no lasting damage to the recordings, but the controls had remained sticky from that point on, a point that Glen took care to remind them at every possible moment.

Miraculously, they still manage to get through everything they needed to shoot, going just 30 minutes over the listed wrap time for the day.

When everyone is packing up to leave, Eric takes the shortbread cookies – the “after” finished product that they had baked beforehand – and wraps them in a box for Glen. “I'm sorry about your equipment. I think you deserve these,” he says, smiling apologetically and handing over the box. Glen’s gruff expression softens just a bit after that.

***

On the third and final day of the shoot, Cassidy comes onto set just in time to see Eric arrive, early as usual, accompanied by Jack Zimmermann. Both of them are carrying large boxes, one filled with muffins, one filled with what looks like miniature tarts.

“Morning, Cassidy. Please tell me there's coffee,” Eric calls to her.

“Good morning, Eric. Coffee’s all set up over there,” she says pointing to the craft services table. “Please tell me you’ve got a poppy seed muffin in there.”

“Don’t you worry, sugar,” he assures her. They set down the boxes on the craft table, and then walk over to meet her, Eric holding a muffin on a napkin out to her.

“You are something else,” she tells him. “I'm ruined for treats forever.”

“You're telling me,” Jack agrees. He cracks a small, shy smile at Cassidy, and she suddenly feels about ten degrees warmer. She's worked with him enough now that the novelty of his freakish good looks has worn off, but she hasn't seen him since the season ended, and he's been bulking up. He looks good. She assures herself that she's just appreciating his physique in an objective way – the sky is blue, Jack Zimmermann is hot as fuck, you know – and smiles back.

“It's great to have you here, Jack. It's almost like being back at AAA Center.”

He smiles with half his mouth. “Haha, yeah. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for hockey to start back up again.”

She chuckles. “Me too. Has Eric prepared you for what we’re going to have you do here today?”

Jack looks to Eric. “He explained most of it to me. I know we’re making apple pie and that I'm not allowed to chirp him as much as I usually do.”

Eric smiles like a proud teacher, but Cassidy raises her eyebrows. “I don't know how much you usually chirp him, but here we actually encourage friendly teasing and jokes. Nothing bad or inappropriate, of course, but I'm sure you two can come up with some good banter,” Cassidy says confidently. “Hilary Knight said Eric liked to make shortbread because he's short, so you'll have to top that.”

“Ugh,” Eric complains as Jack giggles to himself silently. It makes Cassidy feel like superwoman for coaxing out some genuine emotion from the guy. “I can't believe you guys got that on film,” Eric groans.

“Hey, there's still a chance it won't survive the editing process. It's only a 42 minute show, once you take commercials into account.”

“Who do I have to bribe to make sure that happens?” asks Eric.

“Just me and my editors. Shouldn't be too difficult.” Cassidy winks at him.

“Especially since I've already started,” Eric replies, pointing to the muffin in Cassidy’s hand, now missing a couple bites.

By now, Eric already knows the routine, so he leads Jack back to the green room by himself as Cassidy checks on the crew. After a while, the two of them emerge, Eric is in his familiar ensemble, but Jack is wearing a bright red Santa suit jacket and hat.

“The pants wouldn't fit him,” Ginny says apologetically, referring to the jeans Jack is still wearing. For some reason that makes Eric look smug and Jack look embarrassed, and oh. They wouldn't fit over his butt, Cassidy realizes, torn between laughing and blushing.

“Do I really have to wear this?” Jack asks, stretching his arms out like a too-dressed-up child. “I look stupid.”

“You look fine,” Eric says, waving a hand dismissively. Jack gives her a pleading look.

“I'm sorry, you'll have to ask Mike,” Cassidy says with a hearty dose of fake sorrow. “It's his final call.”

When Mike comes over, Jack asks him the same question. Mike stands there, head tilted, considering Santa Jack for a long time, before he says, “As much as I like the coat, it's distracting, and Hilary wore red yesterday. You can lose it.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, pulling at the faux-fur covered velcro.

“But keep the hat,” Mike adds, and for a second, Jack directs him a look that he usually reserves for the faceoff circle, before sighing and slipping off the red Santa jacket.

Underneath, he's wearing a plain black t-shirt, and Cassidy finds herself staring. The shirt is doing him all kinds of favors, clinging tight to bulging muscles, skimming along his waist. She catches herself before too long, eyes flicking around to see if anyone else noticed her. However, that's when she notices that she's not the only one staring. Eric’s dazed expression is locked on Jack’s chest for another fraction of a second before he shakes his head and says something about how much he likes the hat.

Huh.

She pushes any thoughts of “Eric & Jack” out of her mind for the time being, to be examined more closely later when she doesn't have so many logistics on her mind. Glen is right back to complaining about his sticky sound board and Allie is running around like a maniac because she can't find the apples anywhere. Time to go put out some fires.

For all of the chaotic build up, they still manage to start shooting on time. Eric introduces Jack to the camera, and he walks into frame wearing the Santa hat, and off they go. Except something’s not right. For two people who had seemed so comfortable around each other, talking, moving and teasing easily, there is now a strange tension between them, like a force field keeping them from standing too close or saying anything to each other with any sort of human emotion. And it only seems to be when the cameras are rolling.

Mike calls cut a couple minutes in. “Guys, that was great,” he says without feeling, in the same way you would say “Bless you,” to a stranger on the bus. “But I’m not sure it was 100% working for me. Is something wrong?”

“No, we’re fine,” Eric replies, a little more high pitched than usual. “Did I mess up my lines?”

“It's not your lines,” Mike responds. “It’s your energy. Jack, you're stiff as a board, and Eric, you're practically ignoring him. You're friends! This should he easy for you.”

Eric and Jack share a look, then turn back to face the crew. “Sorry, Mike,” Jack says. “I’m not great in front of a camera.”

“Show me more of what you two had in Eric’s YouTube video. I know you're capable of natural.”

“Heh, I'll try,” Jack says, scratching beneath the brim of his hat.

“Just imagine the camera’s in its underwear,” someone calls out.

What has become an inside joke helps break the tension. They all laugh, and the vibe on set eases just a bit. As they're resetting to start the take over again, Cassidy spies Eric putting a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder, mouthing something silently so it won't get picked up by his mic. Jack responds with an appreciative smile, fingertips dancing somewhere around Eric’s elbow, not quite touching. They step apart, and Eric turns back toward the set, adjusting the apron he has on as he walks over to his spot behind the counter.  Behind him, Jack takes a deep breath, clearly nervous and clearly trying not to show it to Eric.

Cassidy slips around the lights in the back and makes her way over to Jack in the off-camera shadows.

“Hey Jack, are you doing okay?” she asks him, trying to find a balance between reassuring comfort and I didn't see you being nervous just then nonchalance. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” He still sounds nervous.

Cassidy feels compelled to add, “I just wanted to let you know that you're doing a great job.”

Jack laughs. “Ha, yeah, right.”

“No, really!” Cassidy assures him. “We had to stop all the time with Martellus Bennett and Hilary Knight. You're right on par for the day.”

He doesn't seem to believe it, raising one eyebrow at her. She continues. “Just breathe. Relax. It's our job to make you look good. We won't let you have any reason to be nervous.”

“I just want to do well for him,” he says in a whisper, looking over at Eric talking to Mike on set. “I know how much a good show would mean.”

“And I know how much he appreciates you being here. Besides, I've seen you do way stupider stuff than wear a Santa hat and bake a pie. Hell, I've made you do stupider stuff.”

He gives her a look, a smirk, not quite a smile but close enough. “Are we going to have to do more of those Falconers Faceoffs this season?”

“If I tell you the truth, then you might not show up to the shoot at training camp.”

He groans, but he's clearly more relaxed now than he had been.

“You got this, Zimmermann. Remember, just imagine the camera in its underwear, and you'll be fine.”

After that, things improve quite a bit. Jack is still awkward, though not distracting so, and Eric is back to his bubbly self. When he asks Jack about his favorite holiday memory, Jack tells a story about ice skating with Bad Bob Zimmermann that could warm the icy hearts of even the crankiest of NESN’s notoriously cranky viewers. Cassidy couldn't have scripted it better.

That's not to say that the shoot is easy. It's a challenging day, with a long shot list to properly show the intricacy of Eric’s “famous” apple pie with maple sugar. “It’s great for Canadians!” as Eric had said in his intro. By the time they wrap, Cassidy’s feet are numb in her boots from standing. She is on the verge of an epic sugar crash, and they still have to strike and copy over the footage.

She's cleaning up a few things when Eric and Jack come over to say goodbye. “Thanks again for everything, Cassidy. The past few days have been amazing!” exclaims Eric.

“They've been amazing because you're a natural,” she replies. “If we haven't scared you off TV production yet, I could see you with your own show on the Food Network one day.”

Eric’s already huge eyes widen. “Don't joke! It was just an honor to do this.”

“I'm not joking, though,” Cassidy assures him. “I won't get ahead of myself and say the final product will be great, but if it's even halfway decent, it's all due to you! It was your idea, mostly your script, and you straight up killed it on camera.” Eric blushes, and Jack pats him proudly on the back. “If it were up to me, I'd do a whole season of this.”

“Well then hurry up and become the one in charge so you can give me a job after I graduate.”

“I'm working on it.” She says it like a joke, but she thinks they can both tell it’s more than that.
“Can I walk you both out?” Cassidy offers “I'd tell you to take the leftover baked goods, but it looks like the crew devoured them all.”

“One sec, I just need to tie my shoes,” Eric remembers, bending down to tie them. Then he and Jack gather their things, and Cassidy leads them out through the NESN offices.

After they say their goodbyes, Cassidy heads back to set to grab the memory cards from the cameras, then returns to her desk to copy the footage over to their main system and the backup hard drive. It's a long, tedious process, and she allows her mind to wander.

Even before observing them together today, Cassidy would bet her job that Eric Bittle was in love with Jack Zimmermann. It's not that it was obvious, but she had been paying attention. His eyes light up when he talks about Jack. He knows how to calm him down. He made him lunch and stared at his muscles. But up until today, she would have assumed it was just a heartbreaking one-sided crush.

Watching them together today made Cassidy think it wasn't quite so one-sided after all. Jack has both said and demonstrated how much he dislikes being in front of the camera – he only tolerates it for Falcs TV and the media because it’s part of the job – but he’s done it willingly for Eric twice now. Sure, it could be just a best friends/former teammate thing. Cassidy thinks back to him saying, I just want to do well for him. On the surface, it was all perfectly innocent.

But she had been watching. She had seen the way Jack had stared, mouth open at Eric’s behind when he bent down to tie his shoes. It was the kind of gaze that said, I would very much like to touch that butt. It's the kind of gaze most people direct at Zimmermann, not vice versa, which is oddly hilarious. Who would have guessed Jack “Best Ass in the NHL” Zimmermann, was an “ass man” himself?

Cassidy stares at the painfully slow upload bar – 42% done – and hopes that those two are smart enough to know how the other one feels. Life is too short and too full of dumb shit for those boys to be pining for each other.

Chapter Text

The final seconds of Game 7 tick down slower and slower, until the last ten seconds feels like they're happening through the lens of a slo-mo camera. The air throughout the area crackles with excited and agonizing tension. Just watching has been exhausting; Cassidy can only imagine how the players feel, battling through every period, every shift.

Those final seconds, she doesn't think anyone in AAA Center takes a breath, watching as the Falconers weave and fight for one last shot. One last shot could send them to the Stanley Cup finals, or send them to a rough, sudden death overtime.

With four seconds to go, Zimmermann launches the puck towards the goal, and the entire crowd gasps.

It ricochets off the post and back into the scrum; the noise in the crowd rises to a crazed crescendo as a mob of players scrap to shove the puck where they want it.

It's only afterward, watching those last seconds in true slow motion that they are able to see the puck bounce off Mashkov’s stick and past the already lunging goalie.

The arena erupts. An explosion of pure joy rips through Cassidy’s chest and through the entire crowd. The players rush the ice, and Cassidy shoves her camerawoman into the fray.

They did it. After everything the team had gone through this season, they made it to the Cup Finals. The Stanley Cup Finals!

If she thought the celebration last season was wild, the one where they clinched their playoff berth, it was nothing compared to this. This will be the first time the Falconers ever compete for the Stanley Cup. This will be an epic celebration.

They haven’t clinched at home yet this season, and the energy is electrifying. The players spend at least 20 minutes on the ice, hugging, cheering, waving into the crowd. The fans are screaming, chanting, even crying. Cassidy points people out to the cameras – the Gatorade showers, the man in a homemade bird costume screaming into the air, the many happy tears – and tries to orchestrate her crew around the rapid-fire frenzy hitting their senses to authentically recreate this glorious feeling at a later date.

When they finally make it back to the locker room, there are buckets and buckets full of drinks. The players bounce and shout and dance and shake up bottles to spray all over each other like overgrown children at a pool party. Cassidy gets beer and champagne everywhere, even down to her socks. Her eyes sting with it. She's never smiled this wide in her life.

Eventually, the guys shove Zimmermann to the center of the dressing room, the de facto team leader for this captain-less team. “Speech! Speech!” the players start calling out. At first, Jack shakes his head, but with a little more coaxing, he sets his shoulders, and takes a deep breath. The raucous celebration quiets down to a few excited whispers, giggling. Cassidy pushes the cameras into position, edging out the TV guys to get the better angles. After all, why should the media get better stuff than the internal crew?

“Cam, stay on Zimmermann. Emily, get reaction shots,” Cassidy hisses to her main camera ops, right as Jack begins to speak.

“Alright boys, you know I’m not usually one for drinking or partying,” he says, earning a surge of laughter from his teammates, “but I think we can all say that we’ve earned this one!” He holds up a beer, and the entire locker room erupts into cheers. “We’ve earned this celebration. We fought and fought, and we fucking made it! We’re heading to the Stanley Cup Finals!”

Around the circle surrounding Zimmermann, guys are jumping up and down, unable to contain their excitement.

“Now I know we didn’t do this the easy way. Seven games vs. New York, seven games vs. Washington, seven of the roughest, toughest, hardest games I have ever played here against Montreal, but you know what, none of that matters now, because we’re here. We’re going to the Finals, and we’re going to play our hearts out like we have for 21 games in a row, because that’s what champions do!” The guys roar, and Cassidy has never seen anyone with as much fire in their eyes and in their soul as Jack Zimmermann has right now. She has chills, and not just because she’s already soaked. Everyone in this room would follow Jack Zimmermann into battle, into the breach. And that’s exactly what they’re going to do.

“So enjoy tonight, boys. You deserve it. We deserve it. And we’re going to take this thing all the way to the end, because our names belong on the Stanley Cup. Our names will be the ones that Falcs fans never forget, because we will never stop fighting. We’ve had our eye on this prize since training camp. Hell, since we were kids.”

“Since we were pooping in the Stanley Cup!” someone calls out, and the whole room laughs again, even Jack.

“We’re going to win because we want this more than anyone. We’re willing to work harder than anyone. We don’t back down when our backs are against the wall, and everyone else is counting us out. We have the most talent and the best goddamn team in the fucking league, so let’s go prove it! Let’s win this thing! Let’s go!” Jack yells, and the whole team yells with him, unleashing an explosive spray of champagne and beer all over Jack and each other.

And right then and there, Cassidy truly believes they are going to make it all the way.

***

Once the locker room festivities die down, the players already gone and celebrating elsewhere, Cassidy and the rest of the crew head to the front office party, where they actually get to be the ones to enjoy the celebration instead of just covering it.

They head to a bar afterwards, and someone passes around a tray of shots as they watch the bleeped out version of Zimmermann’s speech on TV. It’s just as inspiring the second time around. It all gets a little fuzzy after that. On the way home, Cassidy isn’t quite sure if she made out with a stranger or Brad from Ticket Sales…

But despite the hangover and potentially bad decisions, it’s right back to work the next morning, with only four days between the end of the Conference Finals and the start of the Stanley Cup Finals. Most of Falcs TV had all but moved into the studio suite, only going home to shower and sleep, and sometimes not even that. Justin, the motion graphics editor, had worked on a project overnight during the last series. He’d finished and then napped under his desk until people started showing up, sneaking a shower in the visitors’ locker room. Thankfully, it wasn't a game day, or the Habs might have gotten a shock.

The hours are insanely long, and it feels like the work just keeps multiplying. Ever since Linnea left mid-season for a job at the Red Sox, Cassidy had to step up and act as the lead producer, despite the fact that she was still officially just a part-time employee. But if the Falconers want to pay her overtime for her 80 hour work weeks since the playoffs started, they could go ahead and do so.

She creates a production plan for video coverage of the home games, a production plan for the coverage of the road games, a production plan for the interns who will be in Providence during the road games getting footage of fans around the city, and – although most people refuse to acknowledge the possibility until it’s a certainly – a production plan for coverage of the victory parade. Sadly, there’s no time for superstition, for waiting until the final buzzer to start thinking about a parade, but someone has to plan it.

She commiserates with the Community Relations department managers who are in the same boat, making calls to city officials to plan out potential road closures and police security. If they lose, she won’t be able to shake the fact that she jinxed it by making plans for their victory. They all agree that the guys will just have to win the thing, at the very least so they can save face.

Her personal investment in a Cup title for the Falcs is especially high since she has also been talking to some people over at NESN, and they said if the Falcs win, they’ll premiere playoff edition of 24/7: Behind the Scenes. Not only that, but they’ll run it on the one day a year when there are no professional sports games played in the U.S. It’s basically the best air spot a local sports producer could ever dream of, and the story of a first Cup victory would be local Emmy bait for sure.

Cassidy downs another cup of coffee and finishes off a bag of goldfish – her main dietary staples since the playoffs began – and despite her exhaustion, despite her stress, despite the fact that she still has hours to go to make sure everything is ready to go in time, she grins and giggles to herself. The Stanley Cup Finals. What a fucking dream.

This is the big time, and she’s ready for the ride of her life.

***

Of course, it comes down to Game 7. Of course, it comes down to overtime. The broadcasters and NHL Network analysts had called it the most intense series in the most intense playoff run of all time. Cassidy is pretty sure her blood is mostly caffeine at this point. She relates to the guys on the ice, who are upright more by strength of will than anything else. But still they fight; they grind. They leave everything on the ice.

When the final goal goes in, Cassidy cries. She’s not the only one. AAA Center is engulfed in a tsunami of emotion as the Providence Falconers, for the first time in franchise history, become Stanley Cup champions.

What happens next is a bit of a blur.

The players waterfall over the boards, and there’s utter chaos on the ice. The Falcs take turns lifting the Cup over their heads like kings. Like champions. Zimmermann wins the Conn Smythe. Marty’s son hugs the Cup while his dad watches him, tearing up. Tater kisses the ref on the mouth. Cassidy gets all of these shots on the wonky P2 camera that she offered to use to give them an extra shooter for the Finals. She’s not an expert on camera, but she studied enough in college to be able to focus, point and shoot.

However, she’s a producer at heart, and so her eyes are always scanning for the unforgettable moments, the once-in-a-lifetime stories, which is why when Zimmermann wades through the champagne spray of the cacophonous locker room celebration and out into the hallway, Cassidy makes a beeline to follow him. That’s where the families come to meet the players, and she is already envisioning her shot.

She bolts out of the door and adjusts her focus just in time to see Bad Bob Zimmermann, four-time Stanley Cup Champion, spotting his son for the first time since Jack won the Cup for himself. Bob’s eyes tear up as he walks up to Jack and pulls him into the proudest embrace Cassidy has ever seen. He is wearing a Falconers jersey with his son’s number on the back, and his face projects a sunbeam of love and emotion as he hugs Jack for a long time. The shot is gold. It’s priceless.

Cassidy keeps shooting as Bob steps away and lets Jack’s mom hug him too. It’s just as warm, just as loving. She’s crying as well, and appears to have been doing so for a while now.

She moves aside and out steps… Eric Bittle?

It’s definitely Eric Bittle. His smile when he meets Jack’s eyes is incandescent. He throws his arms up around Jack’s shoulders, and Jack laughs and lifts him up off the ground, spinning him around with more exuberant joy on his face than she has ever seen there before. After a few full spins, Jack lowers Eric’s feet back to the ground, and lowers his head down after him, and oh.

Oh, wow.

Jack is kissing Eric. Jack Zimmermann is locking lips with Eric Bittle. He kisses him passionately, proudly, like he’s done it many times before. Eric kisses back, his hands tight around Jack’s back, removing the space between them as Jack pulls Eric closer to his body. It’s an epic kiss, an elated, euphoric display of emotion and desire. Jack pulls away first, both of his hands pressed to Eric’s cheeks as he beams down at him, as Eric laughs and cries tears of joy. They look at each other like the rest of the world has faded away.

Cassidy freezes. She doesn’t even think to lower the camera. The hallway is empty, except for the five of them, at least for now. No one else saw anything, but then she spots the blinking red light. Recording.

She snaps back, immediately pushing stop on the recording and popping out the memory card. When she looks back up, Bad Bob Zimmermann is staring at her, eyes wide. After a moment, Alicia Zimmermann spots her too. Then Jack and Eric. The two boys look at her in shock, wild fear in their eyes. Eric jumps away from Jack like he’s been burned, leaving Jack’s arms to fall to his side without anyone to support them.

“I… uh… I’m gonna go now,” Cassidy blurts out, and rushes back into the locker room. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do. Some of the best moments of the celebration are on that memory card, but there’s no way she can let anyone else see it now. She is paralyzed with the decision between deleting everything – which she selfishly can’t bring herself to do – and making it possible for someone to out Jack Zimmermann. So she shoves the card into her pocket, deciding to do nothing for now, and makes her way back into the throng of singing, celebrating hockey players who have skated their way into the history books.

But her heart isn’t really in it the same way it was a moment ago. The victory isn’t ruined, not by a long shot, but now there’s a ribbon of fear and uncertainly. She’s worried for herself and for Jack Zimmermann and Eric Bittle, both of whom she likes a lot. She hopes they can still enjoy the celebration, and that her stupid, nosy nature hasn’t ruined it for them for good.

***

Cassidy gets home in the wee hours of the morning and sleeps for a full eight hours for the first time in weeks. When she finally wakes up, she has two missed calls and an email from Assistant GM Georgia Martin.

Uh oh.

The email is a meeting request for that afternoon, so Cassidy sighs, and drags herself out of bed. So much for taking the day off. She wears one of her nicer work outfits and does her best to tame her wild hair. If she’s about to get fired, she might as well look her best.

When she gets to AAA Center, the front office is practically a ghost town, with only a handful of people at their desks – mostly those working on parade logistics. Cassidy walks past her own desk, picks up the camera she used the night before, and heads towards the locker room, where the higher ups on the Hockey Ops staff have their offices. She triple checks her pocket once more to make sure the memory card is still there. She’s probably going to have to hand it over for it to be wiped, or if they’re especially paranoid, destroyed. It’s a heartbreaking thought that they might lose the footage, not just from Cassidy’s selfish position of having to produce a feature, but to lose those joyous moments in the intimacy of the locker room that only those within the organization were able to cover.

The back hallways are completely deserted as Cassidy walks down the corridors. The custodial crew already came through, so all the evidence of the previous night’s celebration has been washed away. All that’s left is the lingering, lemony scent of  cleaning supplies. She arrives at Georgia’s office and doesn’t give herself any time to freak out, just knocks twice and opens the door.

Georgia is there, sitting at her desk, and across from her sits Jack Zimmermann. There’s one more open chair next to Jack that Cassidy sits in.  “Hello, Cassidy,” Georgia greets her. “Thanks for joining us last minute. I know most people aren’t in today, but I felt like we should talk sooner rather than later.” She looks so calm and poised, definitely the type to keep her head in a crisis. Not that this was a crisis… Not yet, anyway.

“I agree,” Cassidy replies, nodding resolutely. “Um, hi Jack.”

“Hi.” Jack looks nauseous. He can barely even meet her eye.

Georgia takes a deep breath, then begins speaking in earnest. “Jack here has told me everything. Not just what happened last night, but everything. I’ve known about his relationship with his partner for a while now. It’s been Jack’s decision to keep it under wraps and remain in the closet for the time being, and I fully support and respect any decisions he chooses to make in that regard. I hope that you can do so as well.”

“Absolutely,” Cassidy says.

“As long as our players’ personal lives don’t interfere with their performance on the ice, we prefer to stay out of it. If anything, we encourage them to avoid relationships that would be distracting or hazardous and focus on the ones that support them as men and as hockey players. We obviously feel that Jack’s relationship falls in the latter category, but there are others outside the organization that might disagree.” She sighs, folding her hands on the desk. “Apparently there is some video from last night’s celebrations that could be very hurtful to Jack and his partner if it got into the wrong hands. We are going to do everything in our power to make sure that doesn’t happen.” She offers Jack a comforting, supportive look that turns steely when she turns back to Cassidy.

In response, Cassidy pulls the memory card out of her pocket and places it on Georgia’s desk. “I took it out of the camera immediately and didn’t let anyone else see it, not even to archive the card. I really like Jack and Eric, and I would never want them to be hurt by this.”

“You know Eric?” Georgia asks her, surprised.

Cassidy nods. “We worked together last summer on his Pies with the Pros special on NESN. I knew he was friends with Jack, but I was honestly surprised to see him there yesterday. I guess that’s why I didn’t stop recording right away.”

“Why were you there to begin with?” Georgia asks.

She drops her head. “I just really wanted to get a shot of Bad Bob seeing Jack for the first time after winning the Cup. I thought it could be a really powerful moment. At the time, I was really glad I caught it.”

“Oh,” says Jack, looking surprised. “You saw that too?”

“Yes,” Cassidy admits, glancing over at him. “That’s on the card as well, along with a lot of other really great moments from yesterday.”

“Hmm,” is all Georgia says.

Cassidy feels the need to defend herself and her actions. Even if they go ahead and fire her, it’s important to her that they understand – that Jack understands. “Before you make any decisions about what to do with the footage, I only ask that you watch it first. Jack, especially, I think you deserve to see it, regardless of what you decide to do with it.”

She picks up the camera at her side and loads the card into it, rewinding the footage back to just before the part where she filmed the Zimmermann family. Once it’s at the right spot, she flips up the small display screen and hands the camera to Jack. Then she presses play.

The sound quality is not that great, but they’re not really saying much on the video anyway. Cassidy watches Jack watch himself, his eyes widening as he takes it in. When it finishes, he hands the camera back to her.

“I know you probably hate us because we’re always sticking a camera in your face,” she says quickly. “But unlike most of the media, we’re on the same team, Jack. We won’t create any video that you don’t want us to. I’ll even sign something that says I’ll never speak of it again. That being said, I think you might want us to make this video one day,” she adds, meeting Jack’s eyes for the first time that afternoon. She doesn’t know why she said it, only that all of a sudden, she truly believes it.

Still though, she removes the card once again from the slot in the camera and slides it over Georgia’s desk towards her. “You two can decide what you want to do with this, and I won’t argue. But I’m going to be selfish and ask that you keep it, even if you keep it somewhere where no one can ever access it.”

Georgia picks up the card and flips it between her fingers. “It’s up to you, Jack. I think Cassidy and I both want whatever is best for you.”

After a long moment, Jack says, “Keep it.” Cassidy looks up, shocked. He continues. “Obviously, I’m not quite ready to come out yet, but I also don’t want that video to disappear forever. I…I want to remember it.”

Georgia just nods. “Okay, I’ll upload the footage to a secure offline hard drive where Cassidy – and Cassidy only – can copy over any approved media for Falcs TV to use. The rest of it will be secured and stored.”

“Thank you,” Cassidy chokes out, not realizing she had been holding her breath. “I promise that your secret is safe with me, Jack. On my life and my job…which is basically my life,” she admits.

Georgia simply nods. “We have a nondisclosure agreement here for you to sign, too. Just for precaution,” she tells her.

“But I trust you,” Jack adds, and it feels like a precious gift. “It’s nice to know that I have good people in my corner.”

“Well, you’ve always been nice to me,” Cassidy replies, “even when I was just an intern, embarrassing myself at prospect camp.”

Jack grimaces. “I think I was more embarrassed than you.”

“I highly doubt that,” Cassidy assures him.

Cassidy signs the NDA and leaves the card with Georgia, before hurrying back out to the main office. Since she’s not in fact losing her job, she might as well get back to work. After all, they have a victory parade to plan.

***

Armed with a travel mug of coffee for now and a travel mug for later, Cassidy arrives at the rink on the day of the parade doing everything she can to stay in her right mind. She is beyond excited to be a part of the Falconers’ first ever Stanley Cup Championship parade, but there are so many details bouncing around in her head that she’s finding it hard to concentrate.

There's the regular Falcs TV crew, plus the six freelancers, plus the interns to keep track of. She takes a huge swig of coffee and tries not to panic at the thought of the headsets or golf cart she rented not showing up in time, which would leave them screwed. With the lousy cell service and a long parade route, communicating and coordinating is about to be a nightmare.

She reminds herself for the third time in about a minute to calm down and focus on the positive. It's Parade Day! Cassidy has been secretly dreaming about this since October. Since 2014, even!

They couldn’t have planned for a more gorgeous day for it. The early summer heat is supposed to be tempered by a slight breeze, and the sky is so blue it looks photoshopped. It’s like the universe is enticing the entire city of Providence to come outside and be part of history, and it seems to be working. There are already people lined up along Weybosset Street, buzzing with excitement.

Cassidy arrives at AAA Center and jumps straight into herding cats and calming down the overly anxious senior executives uselessly trying to micromanage things. Strangely enough, watching them lose their marbles over what color pick-up truck should lead the parade route makes her feel a lot better about how she's handling things.

Once all the equipment is ready, Cassidy gathers her crew into a huddle and hands out assignments. She explains that each camera operator will be teamed up with a producer or production assistant with a radio headset, and that she will have all the extra batteries with her charging on the golf cart, so they should radio in when they start to get low. She reminds them to put safety above getting the shot – shooting a sharp look at them all when they roll their eyes – and hands each producer/camera team a map of the parade route.

“We’ll be mic’ing up a few guys, so I want the Falcs TV teams to stay with those trucks. I would like freelancers to focus on making sure we get the rest of the players. Interns will be responsible for getting the crowd and overall atmosphere. I marked the spots on the maps that have the confetti cannons, so stick around there for some good shots. If any of you need a ride up or back, hit me up on the radio and I’ll come pick you up.”

The crew is giddy, too, but Cassidy can see on their faces exactly how determined they are, how badly they want to cover this as perfectly as possible. It makes her impossibly proud of them all.

“Oh! And before I forget, there's coffee and donuts down by the loading docks if you haven't had breakfast yet.” She smiles as half of them are already turning around to head for the food before she even finishes the sentence.

***

Everyone gathers in the players’ parking lot where the trucks that will be carrying the guys are already lined up and ready to go. There are also a couple convertibles that certain VIPs like the GM and the mayor will be riding in. There's also the golf cart that Cassidy rented, thank god. So far, so good.

About half an hour before the trucks are scheduled to leave the arena, the players themselves start congregating. Most of them are accompanied by their wives and children, all completely, adorably decked out in Falconers gear. Even the unmarried guys have their girlfriends with them.

Cassidy spots Jack Zimmermann standing by himself next to traveling case for the Conn Smythe trophy. He looks both excited and awkward, wringing his hands together like he's trying to squeeze water out of them. When he catches Cassidy eye, to her surprise, he smiles, which Cassidy takes as an invitation to go over.

“Happy Parade Day, Jack!”

“You too,” he says. “You're not here to make me wear a mic, are you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow teasingly at her.

“Jack, please,” she chirps back. “I'm trying to get good sound bites here.” She points over to where Mashkov, Stanford and Thirdy are all getting mic’d up. “And none of them are on a truck with Snowy, so we don't even have to worry about bleeping, thank goodness.”

Jack laughs at that, then shakes his head. “This is crazy.”

“That it is,” she replies, looking around at the chaotic group forming by the loading dock, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. “Just wait until you get to Washington Street though. That's the true crazy.  Folks have been lined up for hours.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “I keep waiting to wake up, you know, and realize this has all just been a really intense visualization.”

“I don't know about you, but I couldn't even visualize this. It really is a dream come true.” Cassidy nods her head at the trophy case. “I see you get to bring ‘Connie’ as your parade date. Not bad.”

“Haha, yeah.” He seems proud, but Cassidy can see a twinge of disappointment. “I'm on a truck with Coach Boyd and the Cup, so it's not a bad place to be.”

“The end of the parade is a great place to be! You're the main attraction!”

“Yeah, it's a huge honor.” He says it in what Cassidy has determined is his “dealing with the media” voice. “I'm excited.”

“I heard in one of the planning meetings that your dad turned down the option of riding in the parade. He said he wanted this one to be about you, that he would ride in the next one.”

Jack shrugs, looking halfway between embarrassed and pleased. “I don't always know with him. Usually he loves the attention.”

Cassidy thinks, but doesn't say, that it's probably because he loves Jack more. Instead she says, “Well, the mayor was more than happy to take his place. Though I'm not sure anyone told him he was our second choice.”

They both look over to where the mayor has been strutting around like he owns the place. At the moment, he seems to have cornered Snowy into an animated, but unwanted conversation. Jack and Cassidy chuckle.

“But I'm assuming your parents are here?” Cassidy continues.

“Yeah, they're sitting in the friends and family section by City Hall with a couple of my old Samwell friends.”

The question sits unspoken between them – with Eric, right? – and it takes a lot for Cassidy to not push for more details. Instead, she does something else she told herself she wasn't going to do. “Jack, I just wanted to say thank you for the other day.”

“What?” He looks at her, confused. “Why are you thanking me? If anything, I should be thanking you for… for having my best interests at heart.”

Cassidy laughs, a single huff of air through her nose. “I was just doing anything a decent person would do. But you didn't have to be so... cool about it.” Jack watches her wide-eyed as she tries to figure out what she's trying to say. “Whatever happens, you're still the Falcs’ star center, and I'm, like, a half step up from low man on the totem pole. I'm practically nobody. You could have said the word and I would never have worked in sports again. ‘Don’t upset the talent.’ It's like Rule 1.”

“I’m not the ‘talent,’” he tries to protest, looking revolted by being considered such.

“Okay, okay,” Cassidy appeases. “All I'm saying is that a stunt like that could have gotten me fired if you hadn't been so understanding, and I owe you one.”

He gets a contemplative look in his eyes. “It's like... your entire career was on the line, and someone did what ‘any decent person’ would do. It’s almost as if I understand that situation perfectly or something.”

Cassidy blushes a little bit at the pointed look he gives her. “Okay, so we’re even then. But still, thanks.”

He actually smiles at her then. “Anytime. Well…” he corrects, “maybe let's not do this sort of stuff all the time.”

“Agreed,” she laughs. “Well, I'll let you get back to practicing your wave for the crowd,” she chirps, and he mock glares at her, giving her a brush off “go away” wave. She returns the gesture with a dainty princess wave, and heads back over to check on her crew.

***

The parade itself is a wild, magical experience that Cassidy barely has time to enjoy while zipping back and forth on her golf cart. She does take a moment to take a mental snapshot of the blue and white confetti floating majestically over Jack Zimmermann as he lifts the Stanley Cup over his head for the hundreds of thousands of fans lining Weybosset Street. That's the kind of memory that sticks with a person.

She zigzags past the player trucks and floats and arrives at City Hall with the front of the parade in order to set up the coverage for the rally. A couple of her freelance camera operators are already setting up facing the stage, right on schedule. She spends a few more minutes exploring the area in front of the stage for some potential spots to shoot as well, then settles in the back of the roped off family section for a quick breather. She could use another cup of coffee before the adrenaline wears off.

“Hello there, Ms. Hernandez,” Cassidy hears from her left. She looks over to see Eric Bittle waving at her, wearing a Zimmermann jersey despite the warm weather.

“Eric! Hi!” she replies, moving over to him. “Have you been enjoying the parade?” She motions to the jumbo screen where they have been broadcasting the action.

“Of course! It's been incredible. Did you see when Tater jumped off the truck and started taking selfies with the crowd?”

“I did not,” she says, hoping that her crew were getting it all. “That sounds like him though. Have they shown Jack yet?” The TV broadcast that they were displaying on the screen was set up near the end of the route, so they might not have gotten to the end of the parade yet.

“Not yet!” he says, fidgeting with his phone, flipping it over in his hand. “I know he was nervous about being up there by himself, but I hope he's still able to enjoy this. He's worked so hard...”

“I think he's managing to enjoy himself a little bit,” she says with a grin. “They put him with Coach Boyd and the Cup, so he's been showing off a bit.”

“Oh good!” Eric says, with just a hint of melancholy mixed in with his happiness.

“Yeah, I think he considered it a decent consolation prize for not being able to have who he really wanted up there with him.”

Eric blushes. “Well, that's good.” He gives her a thankful look. “Jack told me about your meeting with George. We owe you one.”

Cassidy shakes her head. “Jack and I talked about it this morning. We’re totally even. When it comes to our careers, we have each other’s back.” For some reason that makes Eric laugh.

“Speaking of career, I think I should be thanking you for helping me out with my post-college plans. I've been talking to the folks at NESN,” he says excitedly. “They want me back to do more Pies with the Pros specials!”

“That's great,” Cassidy exclaims.

“I'm beyond excited, but I was surprised to hear you weren't going to be producing this year.”

“Nope,” Cassidy laughs. “With the extended postseason and now the Cup tour to think about, I'll be too busy with the Falcs this summer to freelance. But that's exciting, Eric. You'll have to tell me how it goes.”

He gives her a look. “Are you sure you didn't say anything or pull any strings to make it happen?”

She chuckles. “No, it was all you! I guess those execs are just smart enough to hold onto a good thing when they got it.”

“Well, I can never thank you enough for giving me my start and taking a chance on a little YouTube idea.”

“You don't need to thank me! I'm just smart enough to know a good thing when I see it, too. It was your concept from Day 1. We just took advantage. And speaking of…” She looks seriously at Eric. “If you haven't signed a contract yet, you should definitely hold out for more money.” She grins at the look of surprise on his face and adds, “Now that I'm not working for them, my priorities can move beyond the bottom line. You can definitely ask for more. And you should think about getting an agent, too.”

“I don't know…”

“Seriously, the show is too good for you to not be getting your fair share.”

Eric just shakes his head, but he's smiling. “It's like you're looking out for me in every aspect of my life.”

“Just don't forget me when you're famous!”

He waves her off, and then a few moments later, Jack’s truck appears on the big screen. Eric quickly says goodbye and rushes back to his seat with the Zimmermann parents. It's probably a good time for Cassidy to get back to work too. If Zimmermann’s already on the broadcast, then the rally would be starting right on time.

Later, if she tears up watching the speeches, well no one has to know.

Chapter Text

It takes some persuasion on her part, but Cassidy manages to convince her boss that they should make the trip to Montreal for Jack Zimmermann’s Cup day. Her request to travel to Russia for Mashkov’s day with the Cup had been vetoed almost immediately, but Mitchell, the Vice President of Marketing and Creative Services had been open to covering any and all of the players’ Cup days within driving distance, even if it necessitated a passport.

So she and Cam had packed lightly – a camera, a few batteries, a couple extra lenses – and hit the road at an abysmally early 5:30 a.m. Cassidy intentionally ignores the way Cam had just assumed that he would be the one driving, as if it were his God-given right to operate the vehicle. Part of her wants to protest on principle, but the truth of the matter is that she doesn’t actually like driving that much. She much prefers being the passenger, giving herself time to think and plan in the car on the way up – or even to zone out when Cam’s misogynistic views start to surface two hours in. Honestly, if they didn’t spend as much time together as they have to because of their jobs, she doesn’t think they would even be friends. But they work together well as producer-cameraman team, and she’s willing to ignore his mild, subconscious sexism as long as he keeps his mouth shut about the number of times she’s made him stop so she could find a bathroom. Maybe the triple-shot Venti Frappuccino had been a little bit much.

They arrive just before noon at a skating rink in Montreal. When Cassidy had asked the Media Relations team to get her details about Zimmermann’s Cup Day, she had been surprised to receive an email from Jack himself with the info. He seemed genuinely – shockingly – fine that they would be there, as if he had forgotten that it was literally her job to shove a camera in his face. The email had said he had chosen to do an open skate in the afternoon with some old friends from the area. She had been expecting something small and intimate, given what she knew of Jack.

She had not been expecting two dozen 19 year olds that arrive shortly after they set up. Nearly all of them have their own skates with them and begin lacing up automatically, chatting and laughing with each other as if they haven’t seen each other in a long time.

Two brave kids, wearing cocky smiles and backwards snapbacks, see Cam with his camera and skate over towards them. “Are you guys here from the news?” one of them asks with a strong French – or should she say Quebecois – accent.

Cam shakes his head. “Nah, man,” he replies, matching his bro-y cadence, “we’re from Falcs TV.”

“Ah, nice,” the first guy says, nodding.

Cassidy adds, “We’re shooting a feature for the Falconers website, and eventually for TV down in the Providence area.”

“Right on,” the second one adds.

“If you two have a few minutes, would you be interested in being interviewed?” Cassidy asks them, since they’re already here. “It would just be a couple questions.” The two boys look at each other, chuckling, and then agree. She directs them into place so that she can talk to one of them at a time, holding a stick mic just out of frame out in front of the first boy.

He introduces himself as Felix, and it’s the first time Cassidy has ever heard a French bro, combining the Quebecois vowel sounds with the frat boy cadence. It’s hysterical, but she keeps it together, because she’s a professional.

“So, how long have you been friends with Jack?” she asks him.

“Jack was, like, our peewee hockey coach back when we were 12.” Felix gestures at the crowd of young men on the ice. “Most of us here were on his team that year. He coached us all the way to the championship, and then, like, headed off to college before we could repeat, the asshole... I mean…” he flashes Cassidy an embarrassed, but unapologetic smile. “Hope you can bleep me out. I swear a lot.”

She laughs politely. Although this guy is a piece of work, she thinks how adorable it is that Jack has chosen to spend his Cup day with his former peewee hockey players. “So how do you feel about being able to see and skate with the Stanley Cup?” she asks him, grinning.

“Oh, I’m pumped. This is, like, a once in a lifetime opportunity, unless he, like, wins another one. Then, uh, I guess it would be a twice in a lifetime or something… But yeah, I’m...uh...excited. I hope that Jack lets us skate around with it like the pros do, like, you know, lift it over our head, and… yeah. But he might not let us. He can uptight about stuff.”

Cassidy can already tell this guy isn’t going to give her the great soundbite she’s looking for, but Jack still hasn’t arrived yet, so she asks him another question, since they have the time. “Was Jack a good coach? Did you know then that he was going to be a Stanley Cup champion?”

“At the time, I hated Jack. He was so hard on us. I was so tired after practice…tabernac, it was awful. But you know, like, I came to appreciate him later. He really made us all better players. And like,” Felix shrugs. “I probably wouldn’t have gotten my hockey scholarship to Boston College without him kicking my ass into gear and making me like the game.” He looks confused for a second. “What was the other question?”

“I asked if you knew he was going to win the Cup.”

“Oh yeah! Er…” he thinks for a moment. “Not back then. Of course, we all knew how he dropped out of the draft. I remember my mom being, like, really freaked out that he still did cocaine when he was our coach, but I don’t think he ever really did it. We talked about it a lot on the team when he was being a dick – I mean a… mean…person. During practice, I mean.”

Cam gives her an uneasy glance, and she is already on the same page, steering the conversation away from drug rumors around their star forward. “So Jack inspired you to pursue hockey at school?” Cassidy asks, changing the subject.

“Yeah,” Felix says, nodding, failing to offer any more than that. Cassidy sighs internally, but smiles. “Thanks! I think that’s all we need. She looks over at Cam, who nods. “Great, now can I have you step aside so I can talk to your friend?”

She asks the second guy similar questions, and his answers are slightly better from the benefit of having gone second. At the very least, he doesn’t bring up the “Jack Zimmermann does cocaine” rumor. He even gives her a better bite about Jack having inspired him as a young hockey player, also claiming to have earned a hockey scholarship thanks to skills he learned from Jack.

As the questions are wrapping up, Cassidy sees a small crowd forming over by the entrance, so she thanks the two guys, and brings Cam over with her to investigate.

Jack Zimmermann arrives with an entourage of friends and family, as well as an official Hockey Hall of Fame wrangler. A small circle develops around him as his former players come up to say hi and get a glimpse of the hardware. Jack himself is all smiles, a rare look for him outside of a playoff celebration, but it becomes instantly obvious how fond he is of the now grown-up kids he used to coach. A huge boy comes out of nowhere and launches himself at Jack. He’s nearly seven feet tall and manages to make Jack, a professional athlete, look small.

“Tabernac, Tommy!” Jack exclaims, hugging the boy back. “You must have been eating your protein. Just look at you!” He looks up at the boy, who just laughs.

“I think I win most improved in the height division!” the boy – Tommy – says proudly, stepping back and opening it up for the group to start a chain of hugs. Cassidy looks over at Cam, who is working his way into the bunch, and hopes the shotgun mic on the camera is enough to get decent sound. It looks unlikely that they will be able to detach the teenagers away from Jack long enough to mic him up.

However, even without getting exactly what they’re saying, the scene is completely precious. The boys revert to their 12-year-old selves, fighting for Jack’s attention, teasing each other and racing up and down the ice. A few of the guys have hockey sticks with them, and someone who works at the rink produces a few more, along with a bucket of pucks. There’s a net set up on one side of the rink, and a few of the boys start practicing trick shots, challenging Jack to a shoot-off. The rest of them hang around, passing a puck – and a series of chirps – back and forth between themselves.

While Cam walks around gathering footage, Cassidy manages to learn that at least half of the boys out there still play hockey either at a collegiate or junior level, and one of them, a menacing-looking kid the others call “Chumps,” plays in the AHL and has a good chance of getting called up next season. Even for Canada, there’s a shocking number of kids who stuck with the sport, which makes Cassidy wonder if maybe their success and love of hockey has anything to do with Zimmermann’s influence on them during their formative years.

She’s so absorbed by the boisterous tussles of the kids on the ice that she almost misses Eric Bittle, leisurely skating around the perimeter of the rink. He’s surrounded by a small group of people who appear slightly older than the majority of the boys on the ice. There are a few huge guys skating comfortably alongside Eric, probably former hockey players themselves, as well as one tiny girl inching her way along, clutching tightly to the arm of some guy with a hipster mustache. Eric looks happy, and Cassidy catches him right at the moment that he glances over at Jack, who’s playing keep-away with a couple of the boys.

Maybe it’s just because she’s looking for it, but in her opinion, the expression on Eric’s face is impossibly fond, his adoration visible from across the rink. Luckily, most of the people in the building are looking at Jack that way today – or if not at him, then at the shining hockey trophy that he’s been keeping within arm’s reach. For once, Eric can stare as much as he wants.

After a moment though, his attention is pulled back to his loud and boisterous friends. Their group is almost as rowdy as the 19 year olds, and that’s saying something.

After a while, someone sets up a snack table and puts out some drinks. There is not only water and Gatorade, but some alcoholic beverages too, and Cassidy remembers abruptly that the drinking age in Quebec is 18 – dear lord – but for a few minutes, the chaos on the ice ceases as people grab refreshments. The Cup remains sitting on a small square of carpet at center ice, and one by one, people come up to take pictures and selfies with it. Cassidy hangs by, careful not to slip on the ice in her sneakers and asks people questions as they wait.

She gets a great soundbite from the one guy with the hipster mustache that unfortunately she will never be able to use due to the number of F-bombs he drops in their two-minute conversation. It’s honestly a shocking number, even considering the foul mouths she’s been around her whole career in sports. But he says some incredibly thoughtful, complimentary things about Jack and his personal journey, the type of things that make you want to root for a hero no matter what his background. It’s too bad it’s barely a sentence once you take out all the swearing. His friend – girlfriend, maybe? – the tiny Asian girl, also gives Cassidy a decent soundbite, speaking highly of Jack’s dedication, work ethic and perseverance that go back to his Samwell days. Apparently they’re both old college friends of Jack’s.

There’s one interview that Cassidy is desperate for, but she strategically waits until after he finishes his first beer to approach Bad Bob Zimmermann. For all she knows, Bad Bob might hate her. The last time they interacted, she was in position to destroy his son’s life and his career. Obviously, that’s not how things worked out, but she has no idea whether Jack shared that knowledge with his father. On the other hand, there’s also the possibility that Bad Bob won’t recognize her from the post-Championship “incident.” Most people don’t recognize her anyway. Other than her wild hair, which she usually keeps back in a bun when she’s on a shoot, there’s nothing about Cassidy’s appearance that stands out in a crowd. She’s probably fine, but she still feels absolutely terrified about approaching Bob Zimmermann. However, today, not even her fear is enough to stop her from trying to get a soundbite from Jack’s famous dad on his day with the Cup.

 As the elder Zimmermann drains the beer bottle in his hand, Cassidy grabs Cam’s arm and nudges him in the direction of the huddle on the ice where Bob and Alicia Zimmermann are chatting with a handful of other older parents. Her heart races alarmingly fast, but she does her best to ignore it, walking straight up to Bob and tapping into every ounce of charm and geniality she has to ask him for a short interview. To her shock, Bob agrees rights away, handing his empty beer bottle to his wife and following Cassidy over to the side of the rink.

As Cam adjusts his focus, Cassidy makes small talk with one of the most decorated hockey players of all time. “This is quite something for a Cup day,” she says. “Most guys just go to the beach or something.”

Bob laughs, warm and reassuring. “That would never be Jack,” Bob remarks in a thick French accent. “Why would he be anywhere else when he could on the ice?”

He doesn't seem to hate her, which is good. Once Cam gives her the thumbs up, she holds the microphone towards Bob, just out of frame.

“So how does it feel to be celebrating this Cup day with your son?” Cassidy asks, smiling.

“Oh, it's been amazing,” Bob effuses. “I don't think I was ever as happy winning the Cup on my own as I was watching Jack win. It's different when it's your kid, you know. But I think because I have been in his shoes before, I know better than most how hard it is to make it to the Championship.” His grin is wide and pleased. “I was so proud of him. He didn't take the direct path, but that makes it that much sweeter, you know? And I think that's why he wanted to invite the boys he coached to be a part of today. It's easy to preach, ‘Never give up on your dreams,’ but it's so much better when you can show these young men proof of that. I don't know if any of these boys told you, but a great deal of them ended up pursuing hockey at some level. If there's anything my son can do, beyond scoring goals and making plays, it's expressing and teaching a love of the game, the power of teamwork and the rewards of hard work. Who knows if any of these boys will make a career out of hockey, but I know for a fact that Jack made an impact on them.”

His expression turns serious. “And I know they made an impact on my son. Jack was struggling a lot when he was coaching these boys. I knew being back in the sport in any capacity would make him happy, even though at the time, he had lost all hope of playing in the NHL. But even I could not predict how well he would take to the role. He loved them all, loved teaching and coaching them. I think teaching these boys to love hockey helped my son remember how to love it as well. And seeing him happy, Stanley Cup or not, will always bring me more happiness than any trophy could.”

The speech makes Cassidy’s heart hurt. To hear such sincere, loving words from a father about his son… It's too much, so she deflects with some humor, to cut the richness of the emotion. “But the Cup doesn't hurt,” she jokes.

Bob laughs again. “No, it's definitely fun having the Stanley Cup back in the family. I asked Jack if we could recreate his baby pictures with the Cup, and he almost uninvited me from today. Luckily, his mother talked him into letting me come, or else I'd have to wait for the next one.”

“So you think there will be a next one?” Cassidy asks, smiling.

“Oh, definitely. I can tell that this is the first of many victories for the Falconers. And I'm not just saying this because I'm biased. I've had this conversation many times with Mario and Gretzky, and they both agree that the Falcs are a young team with a lot of potential.”

“Well if Bob Zimmermann, Mario Lemieux and Wayne Gretzky all agree, then it must be true!” Cassidy jokes, soaking up the warmth of Bob’s laugh.

Just then, Jack skates by and chirps at his dad in unintelligible French – or should she say Quebecois – and Bad Bob replies in kind, saying something that makes Jack roll his eyes at them.

“It's a parent's right to embarrass his son,” Bob calls to him in English. He turns to look right at the camera. “Don't listen to anything he says.”

Both Cam and Cassidy laugh, and she adds, “I think I got everything I need. Thank you so much for speaking with us.”

“It was my pleasure,” Bob says, clapping Cam on the back and shaking Cassidy’s hand. Cam is already turning and walking away as Bob releases her hand, leaving Cassidy completely alone with a hockey legend.

After an awkward moment while she turns over her mind to find some way to break the silence, Bad Bob does it for her. “I recognize you from Game 7 of the Finals,” he says, and Cassidy blushes, both of them knowing exactly what moment he is referring to.

“Did Jack explain to you?” she asks, unable to meet his eyes. “About everything?” she continues vaguely, praying that he doesn't ask her to explain herself. She doesn't think she would be able to recap that awkward meeting with Jack and Georgia Martin with Bad Bob of all people.

“Jack is not the type to talk about all of his feelings with me or most people,” Bob says slowly. “But luckily I can read him pretty easily, at least these days, and I would know if there were something that heavy weighing on him.” Cassidy follows his gaze to where he's watching Jack, who has just skated up to Eric, hip checking him gently and then laughing when Eric attempts to check him back.

“I don't know if I've ever seen my son as happy as he has been this past year, and I know Eric has a lot to do with that.”

“Eric’s great,” Cassidy replies. “I've worked with him some, and he seems like a wonderful person.” She bites her lip and adds, somewhat recklessly, “They seem good together.”

“Yes,” Bob says. “And I would like for them to have a little more time together without the world trying to get a piece of them.” He looks at her, and Cassidy forces herself to meet his eyes.  “You did them a huge favor, and I know they appreciate it.”

“But I just did what any decent person would have done.” Cassidy assures him. “I only wish that decency didn't have to be so noteworthy.”

Bob lets out a sad chuckle. “Me too.” He sighs, and then looks up at the teenagers who are skating back onto the ice. “Jack did amazing things for these young men by proving himself a role model they could look up to. I know one day he can be a different kind of role model for many other young people.” It's true; if Jack Zimmermann were ever to come out… He could impact so many lives.

“Yes, well if that day ever comes, I know those of us at the Falcs will be right there beside him,” Cassidy insists. Bob beams at her, his disarming smile coming more easily to his face than the identical one has ever come to his son’s. They both look out across the ice at Jack, skating alongside Eric, and just like that, a rare, bright smile graces his face as well.

Chapter Text

“Yo, Cassidy! Come check this out,” Loud Aiden calls out from behind the camera. Both Aidens look intently at the viewfinder. “What do you think?”

Cassidy maneuvers herself behind the camera and checks the screen herself. They’d had to readjust all the lighting after Jack’s sit-down interview because his height and coloring were so different from Eric’s. “Can we do anything about the shadows under his eyes?” she asks Loud Aiden.

“Sure thing, just give me a minute to mess with the gels.” He steps around and starts fiddling with the clips on the lights.

“I don't know if there's any hope for those shadows. I've been trying to get rid of them for years now, but they showed up when Marie did and never left,” Eric jokes from his seat. He's relaxed and open, his skin reflecting brightly under the production lighting.

“Kids…” Cassidy jokes back, shaking her head in mock resignation. “Little rascals ruining our good looks.”

“Oh! Do you have kids? I've never thought to ask before.”

Cassidy smiles and gives her practiced answer. “I've got a whole brood of nieces and nephews keeping me busy.” Then, her façade falters. Maybe it's because she’s always felt like the scales have been tipped in Eric’s and Jack’s direction when it comes to major life decisions – she always knows way more about them than they know about her – that she feels the need to explain more. “My current boyfriend and I have talked about it. We haven't been dating very long, but well, I’m almost 40 and the clocks ticking,” she says with a laugh. “He's younger, and into it, so maybe… After these ‘30 for 2030’ specials are done…”

Eric just nods, smiling. Aiden is finishing the lighting adjustment, so his face glows, and his eyes look deep and understanding. Cassidy hasn't even told her mom yet that she's thinking about having a kid, but for some reason, she’d wanted to tell Eric. She ignores the fact that both Aidens were definitely listening. Quiet Aiden obviously won't tell anyone, and Loud Aiden, while annoying, isn't enough of a dick to spread the gossip.

“Well, if you do end up having kids, you'll be living with circles under your eyes for the rest of your life,” Eric says happily, like it's the best trade off ever.

“Are you kidding?” Cassidy says. She taps under eyelids. “These bad boys showed up two months after I started working in sports. I've forgotten what I look like without them.” Eric chuckles, and pushes down his hair.

“How do I look?” he asks.

Loud Aiden, stepping back to check his handiwork in the viewfinder replies, “Like a million bucks. Right, Cassidy?”

She takes a look. “Nice, Aiden! That looks great. Eric, you’re glowing.”

Eric beams, and Cassidy does a last minute adjustment to the mic on his collar. “Are you ready to check sound?” she asks Quiet Aiden, and he nods.

Cassidy sits down in the chair across from Eric, pulling a clipboard out from under it and laying it across her lap. “I think this might be the first time I've interviewed you by yourself,” she tells Eric. “I've interviewed Jack about a million times, but this is a treat.” Eric blushes, clearly flattered. “And speaking of treat,” Cassidy continues with a smile, “why don't you tell me what your favorite dessert is.”

He brings his hand to his heart in a dramatic display of false affront. “You would have me choose between my children?”

“Okay, then. Let's try something different,” Cassidy chirps. “What are your children’s favorite desserts?”

Eric brightens up immediately and starts chattering. “Well! Marie loves my strawberries and cream pie. But lately, she's been asking for the peach crumble more often than not. Richie on the other hand likes key lime, as well as anything his sister is eating. He’s at that stage where he follows her around like a shadow and wants to do everything she’s doing. And they both want chocolate ice cream constantly, even though I've explained that peach pie and chocolate is not really an ideal dessert pairing in most cases…”

As Eric goes on, Cassidy glances at Quiet Aiden, who nods and taps the camera. He’s ready, so once Eric stops for breath, they'll get started.

It's an easy interview. Eric is warm and engaging, and clearly has enough camera training to know to rephrase her questions as a sentence when he's answering. He's a pro. Cassidy asks him about how he met Jack, their time at Samwell, the struggle of dating a closeted athlete. Eric is sincere, and doesn't sugar-coat any of it, but there's also a sense of “All’s well that ends well” with him. Clearly, he's happy with how his life has turned out. It's so refreshing. Cassidy doesn’t want a tragedy, but a triumph, with this piece, and Eric is delivering.

“So, who proposed?” Cassidy asks. “How did it happen?”

Eric opens his mouth to answer, and then shuts it. A sly grin spreads over his face. “I should tell you the whole story. Oh lord, Jack might kill me, but I think we've kept it a secret long enough. The whole thing was his idea anyway”

Cassidy quirks an eyebrow at him. “Was it embarrassing? Will I have chirping material for life?”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Eric says, his expression slipping from sly to soft. “It was almost romantic, in an awkward Jack way.”

Cassidy looks at him expectantly. “Alright, Eric, I’m dying to know. Tell me about your proposal.”

Eric snickers, like he can’t believe he’s going to say what he’s about to say. He takes a deep breath. “Now mind you, this is the true, secret story of our engagement. Our parents don’t even know this version, and there had better be a statute of limitations on this, because otherwise my mama and my mother-in-law might end me as soon as this airs.”

“Was it that bad?” Cassidy asks, gently prodding Eric for more details.

“No!” he assures. “It wasn’t bad, it was just…” He takes a moment. “Let me explain it this way. No one knows this, but Jack and I celebrate two different anniversaries.” He brings a hand to his chest. “I celebrate the anniversary of the day we had our wedding, the day all of our friends and family came together to celebrate with us, the day we have engraved on our wedding bands, a day that I had been planning for years…” He drops his hand. “Jack, on the other hand, prefers to celebrate the day we technically got married.”

Cassidy’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Huh?”

She tries to read Eric’s expression for some clarification, but fails. “We technically got married in 2018, almost four years before we ‘got married,’” he says with air quotes.

Her jaw drops. “So that was…”

“It was the year after the Falconers won their first Cup, the year Jack broke his leg and was out for most of it season,” he finishes. “It was before Jack came out, before my Food Network show, before we even told people we were engaged. Only our closest friends and family even knew we were dating.” He shakes his head. “I thought he was joking when he asked me. It was in the hospital after he broke his leg. They wouldn’t let me in to see him for the longest time because I wasn’t family, but his family was six hours away. He was all alone in there, and I had no idea how bad it was. It was awful…” Eric trails off, and Cassidy can tell he still carries the fear and hurt with him, even a decade later.

He continues. “I didn’t know if he had broken his spine or had a major concussion. I had to wait until his parents drove down from Montreal to know what happened to him. Luckily it just a broken leg. Bones heal, you know. When I finally got to see him, he was more upset about me not being there than I was. He was sitting in a hospital bed with his leg propped up in a huge cast, his eyes huge, and he said he didn’t want either of us to go through that again. I said that accidents like this would always be a possibility while he was in the NHL, and that I would never ask him to give up hockey. His response was to say that obviously he didn’t mean he should give up hockey, but that we should get married.” Eric smiles at the memory. “I just assumed he was in a pain-killer haze and said yes to humor him, but then later when we got home, he wouldn’t shut up about it. He even printed out the marriage license.”

“I can’t believe you’ve kept that a secret all this time. That’s huge!” Cassidy says, shocked. “It’s really astonishing that no one found out.”

Eric nods. “We were really careful. Even at that time, it would have been huge and controversial if word had gotten out that there was not only a closeted gay player in the NHL, but a married one. Since we were both very much not ready for that kind of attention, we opted to get married in California, which had the dual benefits of being the only place that issued confidential marriage licenses, and also is not really a hockey state, so we wouldn’t be recognized. If we had been spotted, we would just say we were there to visit our friend, Chowd– I mean, Chris, in San Francisco. We even stayed with him a few nights, just to cover all our bases. And then on May 18, three years to the day after we first got together, we got married at a county clerk office in San Francisco. It was incredibly anticlimactic, and I only agreed to the whole thing because Jack promised me we would eventually do all of the real proposal and wedding things. At the time, he wasn’t even sure if he was going to come out publicly though, so all I could do was take his word on it.”

“So do you regret doing it?” Cassidy asks.

He sighs. “Not exactly... I’d been picturing my wedding for years, and I definitely never imagined anything like that. But even then, I knew Jack was it for me.” He looks off camera, smiling fondly, before turning back to her. “I just couldn’t stand that the memories of our wedding would be so boring and clinical.”

Cassidy smirks. “Clinical, huh. Did he make you sign a pre-nup?”

Eric lets out a single loud laugh. “No, but he really should have. Back then, I didn’t have any money. I could have been a total gold-digger. But it worked out in his favor though, because now I make more than him,” Eric says smugly. “But even if Jack had wanted to bring his lawyer into it, which he absolutely didn’t, I don’t think either of us could even fathom being apart, let alone getting divorced. At the time, he had everything to lose, but all I had to lose was him, and I had no plans of ever letting him go.”

There’s a long pause, and then Loud Aiden breaks the silence with a loud, “Awwww.” They all laugh, and Cassidy flips the pages of her notebook, glancing over her questions.

She tries to think where she was in 2018, and fails. Her memories are vivid from Stanley Cup Finals and the championship celebrations the year before, but the ‘17/’18 season passed without incident for her. It had been tragic at the time to lose Jack to injury and all hope of a repeat championship, but his success in the years that followed made that year a mere footnote for most Falcs fans and staff. But to think, that season had been the impetus behind one of the greatest redemption stories – and one of the greatest love stories – in all of sports. It was the story that she was finally getting to tell the way she knew it deserved to be told, by the person most qualified to tell it. Cassidy’s career had always been intertwined with Jack Zimmermann’s and Eric Bittle’s. It’s impossible to say if they each could have achieved the same level of success without crossing each other’s paths, but it’s hard to imagine Cassidy’s career without Jack, or Eric’s career without Cassidy. And now, years later, they’re all together again, not by chance, but by choice.

She takes another deep breath, and glances at her watch. There are a lot more questions to ask, and they are going to need as much time as possible once Eric starts talking about his “real wedding.” Her producer’s intuition was telling her they had better get back on track.

“Alright then, tell me about your ‘fake’ wedding.”

Chapter Text

The end of winter blues and dragging midseason slump is always a rough time for Cassidy. There’s not much to do smack dab between the All Star festivities and any hope of a playoff push madness. In fact, if it weren't for Zimmermann lighting everything up and his near-record points streak, Cassidy would be beyond bored of hockey entirely.

It's the time of year when getting home so late after a home game begins to drag on her, too. Tonight they went into overtime on top of everything else, so it’s after midnight when she finally lets herself into her dark, empty apartment. She goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, throwing her clothes onto a dangerously tall pile of laundry. She’ll handle it once the team goes on the road.

Once she's in bed, she pulls up a recorded episode of Cupcake Wars on the DVR as some fluffy background noise to fall asleep to. No sports allowed before bedtime.

Except that she knows one of the contestants on her TV.

She hadn't really expected anything to come of it when she forwarded a casting call email she received in her personal email to Eric Bittle.

If your cupcakes are half as good as your muffins, you should try out for the show! she had said in the body of the message. He had responded a short thank you, and that had been that. She had forgotten about the whole thing until Eric Bittle had popped up in a red apron on her television, talking about batter consistency and flavor combinations.

Adorably, he brought his mom to be his assistant.

“If I wanted to come out of this with any sense of dignity, I probably should have chosen someone other than my mother to help me out. But if I wanted to win, it had to be Mama,” he says decisively in a talking head interview. Cassidy is completely enthralled. He really does have a great television presence.

She watches the entire episode, which Eric wins in a landslide, and his cupcakes are set to some fancy Hollywood party. As she watches, she scrolls through Instagram, and just happens to see a post from Jack Zimmermann. Jack posts rarely at best, and usually just pictures from charity events or endorsement obligations. This, however, is a picture of a perfectly decorated cupcake, posted earlier that evening, before the game.

Celebrating my BFF and personal cupcake chef @omgcheckplease winning big on Cupcake Wars!

The whole effect is so sweet, it makes Cassidy teeth ache, but that also might just be because now she has a mad sugar craving. She sighs, hopping out of bed to break into the emergency chocolate.

Chapter Text

Watching Georgia Martin address the young group of rookies and prospects gives Cassidy a major sense of déjà vu.

She glances over at the latest Falcs TV intern, Jesse, who's been covering the prospect camp, much like she had several years ago. He's a bright kid and has demonstrated some interest in producing, so Cassidy had let him lose on his first ever solo shoot. She's not going to get ahead of herself, but it would be really great if he took to field producing and could go on some of the awful sponsorship shoots and PSAs she always has to cover.

Today’s the last day of camp, which means Georgia Martin will be addressing the young players – who seem to get younger every year, jeez – to dole out her usual wisdom and advice. The rookies listen on, enraptured, as Georgia talks about how they were hand-selected to make a difference on this team because she and the rest of Hockey Ops believe they have what it takes to bring another Stanley Cup to Providence. She doesn't mention that most of them will never see a single game in the NHL, but that’s not necessarily the most inspiring thing to say to a bunch of young athletes.

As Georgia speaks, Cassidy checks in with Jesse, who, despite his obvious jitters, seems to have settled in quite a lot. With the two simultaneous shoots going on, they had decided the more experienced cameraman, Cam, should work with the less experienced producer, Jesse, and so Cassidy had gotten Emily. It was a win-win in Cassidy’s books, since Emily actually listens to her instructions without complaining, unlike a certain other cameraman. Also, Cassidy gets a lot of satisfaction from producing a feature about the first female hockey operations executive in the NHL with an entirely female crew. Even the editor assigned to the piece is a woman, a newly hired recent grad from RISD named Meredith.

This feature had been in the works for years, tossed around in brainstorming meetings since Georgia was hired, back when Linnea was the only woman on Falcs TV, but it had been vetoed at every turn. Finally, Cassidy had managed to get the idea approved by Mitchell, the Senior Vice President of Marketing and Creative Services, thanks to the short offseason. The Falcs had been going through a miserable couple of years, starting with Zimmermann’s season ending injury in late 2017 and getting worse from there, until the team on the ice at the end of last season was a mere shell of the team that had won the Stanley Cup. They hadn't even made the playoffs, which had been a tough pill to swallow.

But Falcs TV still had content to deliver, even without a fairy tale championship story to tell. NESN was expecting at least one hour-long episode of 24/7: Behind the Scenes by the start of the season, so Cassidy had once again proposed a documentary-style profile of Georgia Martin. She herself had always found Georgia to be a fascinating figure: a former Olympic hockey player who spent some time in the CWHL before getting her masters in sports management from University of Minnesota. She got her job with the Falcs by sending GM Brad Barrows a full profile of all the eligible players in the draft that year along with her recommendations for who he should choose.

Thankfully, Mitchell had agreed to let Cassidy do the piece, and Georgia had been on board, so she had started preparing for what was basically her dream feature. To highlight a female sports pioneer, even on just a regional level, is something she’s wanted to do since college.

In the end, it's been a good thing that she’s so committed to the project, because it's been a complete challenge to get material. Georgia is impossibly busy, and beyond that, most of what she does on a daily basis ranges from sensitive personal matters to top secret hockey operations deals. For the past month, Cassidy has felt like a needy girlfriend, texting every day to see if it's okay for her and her camera op to follow Georgia around, or else waiting around at her desk refreshing her email in case Georgia has some interesting but appropriate activity they can shadow her on.

It hasn't been all bad though. One of the best days of shooting had been when Georgia had allowed Cassidy and Emily to tag along with her while she visited one of the 2019 draft picks at his home in Quincy to sign his contract. They’d observed Georgia in action as she met with the player – an 18 year old named Liam with a wicked slapshot – and his family.

The family had welcomed Georgia in like an old friend, and she basically was. She remembered the names of Liam’s brothers and sister, and commented on the updates to their home. Apparently, she’d been visiting with them at least once a year since Liam was 15, often more frequently than that, connecting with them on a personal level that even Cassidy hadn't been expecting. So often she hears, “Hockey is a business,” thrown around, and that’s true, but with Georgia Martin, it felt like a business in the sense of a small town country store rather than a faceless, heartless corporation that trades fan favorites across the country to save a buck.

It had been a tearful, heartfelt moment to watch the young boy realize his dream and sign his contract. Cassidy had watched as Georgia shook the kid’s hand and those of his parents, and welcomed them all to the Falconers family. As they had been leaving, the boy’s mom had even thanked Cassidy, wiping away some smudged makeup with a smile.

“This is just the beginning. Georgia and the Falcs will take really good care of him,” Cassidy told the mom. “We’ll be keeping an eye out for him in the next few years.”

And in a way, it’s true. Cassidy is watching the kid right now as he sits in the corner of the locker room, hanging on Georgia’s every word, as she addresses all the prospects. He furrows his brow and nods along seriously, the facial equivalent of a child dressed up in a business suit, as the other prospects around him do the exact same thing.

Eventually, Georgia draws her speech to a close. The prospects, unsure if they should clap or not, give her a sort of half-hearted applause, and then Brendan, the head trainer, takes over with their schedule for the day.

Cassidy watches as Jesse, her intern, introduces himself to Georgia and talks to her for a few minutes, presumably about filming her speech. The flashback to when she was in the exact same position five years ago washes over her. She laughs at the memory of the squirmy terror she had felt during most of that shoot and how far her skills have come since then. Looking into Jesse’s eyes, she can see the same familiar nerves wrapped in false bravado that she used to feel.

He ends his conversation with Georgia, and Cassidy saunters over to him. “So, how are things going?” she asks, as if she hadn’t been watching him.

“Everything’s good,” he replies quietly, careful not to interrupt Brendan addressing the players.

“That's good.” She pauses for a minute. “Did Georgia Martin ask you about any of the guys?”

He turns to her in surprise. “Yeah. She wanted to know if we were getting good footage of Liam Ellis.”

Cassidy hums. “Better keep an eye on him then,” she says knowingly. “Not just this week, but over the next few years. When I was covering my first one of these, she asked me about Zimmermann, and he hadn't even signed yet. Now, well… You know.”

“No kidding,” says Jesse. “I guess I should buy an Ellis jersey then.”

“Not a horrible bet.” She looks up at Emily, who jerks her head towards the door to let Cassidy know that Georgia is making to leave the locker room. “I've got to go now, but call me if you run into any problems,” she tells Jesse.

“Will do,” he says, walking over to stand behind his cameraman. Cassidy allows herself a small smile, then follows Georgia out of the room.

***

After shadowing Georgia for most of the day on a series of predetermined, pre-vouched Assistant GM business, Cassidy finally gets to sit her down for an interview. They set up in Georgia’s office, setting up lights and a tripod while Georgia checks email at her desk. When Cassidy hands her the wired lav mic, she smiles, taking the small clip and deftly pulling it up through her shirt. Cassidy steps around the desk to clip the mic onto the lapel of Georgia’s suit jacket, then sits back down in the wooden chair on the other side.

“We good, Em?” she asks.

“All set, Cass,” she gets in return.

“Great!” She smiles at Georgia. “We’ll just do a quick sound check. Would you mind telling me your favorite dessert?”

“Oh, that’s a hard one….” Georgia answers. “Have you ever tried one of Eric Bittle’s pies?” Then she adds, “You know Eric, right? Jack Zimmermann’s friend, the baker?” As if Cassidy could forget.

“Yes, I remember Eric,” Cassidy says nonchalantly. “But I’ve never had his pies. Just muffins.”

She flips her hand in Cassidy’s direction. “You’re missing out. They’re incredible. Jack brings them in every so often for the team and trainers, so I always make a point to sneak into the kitchen for a slice. The cherry pie was the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my whole life.”

“That is some praise,” Cassidy remarks.

“Everything sounds great,” Emily calls out from behind the tripod.

“Then I guess we should get started,” she replies.

Cassidy begins in with her questions, and Georgia answers them thoughtfully and eloquently. She doesn’t mince words, and her caring nature and sharp wit shine through with every response.

“What does it mean to you to be the first female hockey operations executive?”

“It’s been a huge honor. I mean, I definitely never set out to become any sort of role model or spokesperson, but I am aware of the eyes that are on me. But all I’ve ever really cared about is hockey. I’ve loved it my entire life, but I also knew my opportunities to play professionally would be limited. I can see that starting to change now, with the NWHL taking off, which is great. But when I was coming up, playing hockey was not a sustainable career option, I knew I would have to find another way to get involved with the sport, and without another woman in that position, I felt like I had to get creative.”

“So you didn’t see yourself going hockey operations, at first?”

Georgia shakes her head. “No, I didn’t necessarily expect to get into hockey ops, but I figured out early on that I wanted to work with hockey players. I coached for a bit, and it was fun, but I was always more strategy-minded. I scouted for the CWHL, and then got hired by the Falcs as a low level scout. The Falconers are a progressive team, and they took a chance on me, but the sports industry as a whole has not been the most welcoming to women. I had to work twice as hard as my male peers. But it’s fun to prove the doubters and the haters wrong.”

She smirks, and Cassidy smiles broadly. That last bit is definitely going to make it into the piece. After a quick glance at her notes, she decides to ask a question along a different vein. “What is your favorite part of your job?”

Georgia’s smirk shifts into a warm smile. “I truly love working with the players. One of the benefits of my position as Assistant GM instead of General Manager is that I get to be the one to form personal relationships with the guys. I get to know their families, their children, their significant others. We value getting to know the players as people in this organization, but then it gets challenging to make the difficult hockey decisions if you get too close. That’s why Brad Barrows does the money talks and I do the heart-to-hearts. I like to say that I’m the H.R. rep for the team, because when they have a personal matter that affects their work, they come to me, and I can put them in touch with the right people to handle it.” She pauses a moment. “Um, another thing I love to do is assigning rookie roommate pairs.” She grins. “I’m really good at it. At least four of my guys have gotten so close that they made their roommate their baby’s godfather.”

“That's pretty incredible!” Cassidy says. She glances down at her clipboard for her next question when there is suddenly a sharp rap on the door.

Jack Zimmermann doesn’t wait for a response, but simply barrels into the room.

“Hey George, I…” He sees the interview set-up, the lights, tripod and camera, and stops in his tracks. His eyes do a double take as he seems to recognize Cassidy. “Oh, if you’re busy, I’ll just…” He immediately steps back as if to close the door.

“Jack, wait!” Georgia calls to him, standing abruptly. Jack stops, but his eyes remain fixed on the camera.

“It’s fine. I can come back later,” he says, shifting on his feet nervously.

Georgia gives him a look, both stern and fond. “Jack, how many times have I said you can come talk to me any time, no matter what.” she says, as if it’s a lecture she’s given him many times before.

“I know,” he replies uncomfortably. “But I can come back when you aren’t meeting with anyone.” When the cameras are gone, Cassidy assumes he means.

“As much as I appreciate and value these ladies’ time…” She looks at Cassidy and somehow conveys both I’m sorry and I’m not at all sorry. “I’m sure they can give us some time alone to chat.”

Cassidy is so torn. Getting a camera in the room while Georgia gives advice to one of the pro guys, especially a superstar like Zimmermann, would be great material for this feature. Sure, seeing her talk to draft picks and prospects is fine, but it will never pack as much of  a punch as seeing her in action with one of the athletes people actually care about. She is about to argue her case for why they should be allowed to stay, when Georgia gets a steely look in her eyes, and it becomes immediately apparent that any attempt to argue would be futile.

If Cassidy has learned anything over the past month or so of becoming the resident expert in Georgia Martin, it’s that it is practically impossible to get her to go against her principles. It’s one of the things that makes her so good at her job. She’s willing to drop anything for her players, which Cassidy understands, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s running out of time to get footage for this piece.

Jack steps back inside. “Are you sure it’s alright?”                     

Oh well. “It’s no problem,” Cassidy says, flashing both Jack and Georgia a resigned, but sincere smile. “Just give us a minute to take down the equipment.”

“No, no,” Jack says in a rush. “This shouldn’t take too long, so you can probably finish up after. I don’t want to cause a fuss!”

“It’s not a fuss, Jack,” Georgia says. Cassidy glances over at her, and she adds, “You can leave the lights and things up in here, Cassidy. This chat shouldn’t take longer than about half an hour.” She turns to Jack. “Is that good for you?”

“Yes, of course!” He looks extremely relieved.

Cassidy stands up and offers Jack her chair before stepping around Georgia’s desk to take the microphone from her. Georgia unclips the lav from her lapel and allows it to drop down through her shirt, before handing the cable back to Cassidy. Emily unlatches the camera from the tripod as Jack sits down, and then they both head out of the office.

Emily sits down on a nearby chair, but Cassidy continues down the hallway to the player’s dining room and kitchen. She finds the espresso machine and makes herself a cappuccino. Normally, she wouldn’t just go in and make herself at home in the space, but the only players around this week are the prospects, who don’t know better, and a couple guys like Zimmermann who have been in the area all summer to train. She makes another cappuccino for Emily, then heads back towards the offices.

“Thanks!” Emily says happily, sipping at the coffee. “So what do you think Zimmermann wanted?” she asks.

“No idea,” Cassidy replies.

“It must have been important. Did you see how nervous he looked?”

“Yeah. I hope he’s okay.” She raps her fingers on the small paper cup.

“Maybe it’s some sort of scandal,” Emily speculates excitedly. “I know the whole coke thing turned out to be been a rumor, but maybe he got himself involved in something else crazy. Maybe he got some girl pregnant!”

Cassidy wants to laugh. “I seriously doubt that’s what it is,” she says, thinking of Eric Bittle. “But who knows. He’s hard to read under that hockey robot mask.”

Emily does laugh at that. “Tell me about it. He’s practically emotionless most of the time. But now that he’s Mr. Art Ross winner, all the sponsors want him to read their PSAs.” She takes a sip, then continues chattering. “I keep telling Sponsorship they should go with someone with more pizzazz, but there’s no arguing with them. It has to be Zimmermann. Oh well, it’s not like anyone asks me. I just point and shoot the camera.”

They sit and sip coffee for a while in companionable silence, and Cassidy responds to some emails on her phone. When the half hour is almost up, a thought comes to her.

“Hey Emily, is the camera ready to go?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just a thought I had.” She stands and stretches her legs. “I want you to be ready to shoot when the door opens. Try and get the both of them if you can. If it’s just Zimmermann alone, you don’t have to worry about it.”

Emily smirks at her conspiratorially. “So sneaky. I feel like the paparazzi.”

Cassidy rolls her eyes, grabbing both of their cups to find a trash can. “I just want a shot of them together, if possible. If George doesn’t want us to use it, we won’t, which already makes us better than the paparazzi.”

Just a few minutes later, the door to Georgia’s office swings open gently, and Jack steps out, looking almost dazed. He definitely doesn’t seem as nervous as he did before, but it’s like he’s stunned. Georgia follows him out, rubbing his shoulder maternally and saying something to him that’s too quiet for Cassidy to hear from down the hallway. Jack nods and makes an expression that is too much like a grimace to be a smile, but he clearly feels comforted to some degree by Georgia’s actions. Cassidy looks over at Emily, who has the camera focused on the doorway, capturing the small scene.

Jack says one more thing that is clearly, “Thank you,” then heads off down the hallway in the opposite direction as them. As soon as he turns the corner, Georgia turns to look at them with a pointed look. Cassidy taps Emily on the shoulder, and she points the camera down, and they both walk forward towards the open door.

“I hope it’s okay that we were filming that. We couldn’t hear anything, and we weren’t recording sound, but it seemed like a good shot to get you talking to the players.”

Georgia doesn’t say anything, just raises her eyebrows.

“We won’t use it if you don’t want us to,” Emily assures her as well.

“If you weren’t recording sound, then it should be fine. I trust Falcs TV to paint us in the best light.” She gives them a small uptick of her lips in lieu of a smile. “Thanks for being patient. That was a very important and rather time-sensitive conversation, and I didn’t want to leave Jack waiting.”

Cassidy wants so badly to ask for the whole story. She’s not going to, even though she’s a natural snoop and it’s basically her job to ask questions. Maybe if she hints at wanting to know, Georgia will hint back with enough info that Cassidy can read between the lines. She’s really good at reading between the lines. Jack Zimmermann’s personal life is none of her business, even though she knows far more about it than the average Falcs front office employee. What could he have to say that’s that important?

“Important how?” she ends up asking.

“Just important,” Georgia responds coyly. “I would never betray a player’s confidence, but this news isn’t likely to stay between just us for long. And when that time comes, I’ll be happy to clarify.”

Cassidy hopes she does a good job of hiding her frustration as she and Emily follow Georgia back into her office. They reset the camera and microphone, turn the lights back on, and get settled.

“Now where were we?” Georgia says, smiling, as she sits down at her desk.

Cassidy sits down as well, looking up at Emily for the thumbs up signal, and then says, “I think I was just about to ask you how often to players come to you for advice?”

Georgia smirks, then dives right into her answer. “The players come to me often for advice because I'm in the unique position of understanding the pressures they are under, as well as being in a position to help…”

Chapter Text

“Alrighty. I have a cut ready for this piece if you want to look over it,” Meredith, the video editor, says, spinning around in her chair to look at Cassidy. Game 1 of 82 ended about an hour ago, and neither of them can go home until she approves this Opening Night Falcs Feature video. It's just a sights and sounds piece, quickly slapped together to rack up views and likes on social, but it’s a good way to take advantage of the surge of enthusiasm that comes with the start of any season.

Even Cassidy isn't immune to the excitement. There’s never anything like the first game of the season. It's like Christmas and the first day of school wrapped up in a Falconers-colored bow. She’d counted the Falcs banners and jerseys she’d seen driving through Providence on her way to work – 27 – and each one felt like a warm hug for her brain.

The excitement only grew when she got to the arena. Everyone dresses to impress on Opening Day, even as they run around to cross every “t” and dot every “i” before 18,000 pumped up fans flood the arena.

From Cassidy’s perspective, everything had gone off without a hitch. They had three cameras out for pregame, and Cam had remained down in the camera well to cover the game once it started. Cassidy had watched from the booth through the second intermission to see how their videos played on the big screen, then headed back down to help Meredith with her video.

By the time the game ended, they were just waiting to add some of the action shots, like Mashkov’s game-winner and Snowy’s awesome Spiderman save from the second period.

It’s always kind of fun to come down from the excitement from games like these with the rest of the Falcs TV crew. The camera ops joke around as they put equipment away while the editors either shush them in exasperated annoyance or throw out hilarious jabs. Cassidy usually just sits in the swivel chair she has appropriated as her own and watches the postgame show while scrounging for any snacks she can find. Today, she finds leftover donuts from that morning.

When Meredith calls her over, she stands up and walks over to her computer. “Let’s see what you got” she says, wiping sprinkles off her blazer and bending over the monitor. Meredith turns up the volume on the speakers and presses play.

For what it is, the short video is pretty good. The music choice works perfectly, and the shots flow well into each other. The only footage that Cassidy had insisted on comes in during a lingering moment right as the piece transitions from the “pregame” segment to the “game” segment.

Emily had been the one to get the shot while the team had been standing in line for the National Anthem. It's a stoic close-up of Jack Zimmermann’s face that pans down slowly to “C” on his chest. In a perfectly timed transition with the music, the shot shifts into one of someone tapping a stick wrapped meticulously in rainbow Pride Tape. A rack focus reveals it belongs to Jack, staring down his opponent for the puck drop.

The Pride Tape had caused some chatter earlier this evening among fans and the media but nothing significant. They just assumed Jack, like many other players, had been making a statement about tolerance and acceptance in the NHL.

Only a few people know the true significance of the gesture. Tomorrow, October 11, on National Coming Out Day, Jack Zimmermann is going to come out.

The news had shocked most of the people at the small meeting Georgia Martin had called to discuss the organization’s response and plan for the event. Even Cassidy, who knew Jack was gay – or at least in a relationship with a man – never expected that Mr. “No Personal Questions” Zimmermann would ever want that sort of attention flung on him. But apparently, he had decided he wanted to do it, and he was going to do so unequivocally. The job of the people in that room would be to make sure that the Falconers organization's stance of support and acceptance were clearly communicated to the public and Providence community and to make sure to protect their players from any unwanted attention or abuse.

Cassidy had not expected that she and the rest of Falcs TV might be included in that category of unwanted attention. When she asked for an interview with Jack for a feature, she had been told in no uncertain terms that it was not going to happen.

“What are you talking about?” Cassidy had asked, c, the Senior Vice President of Business Strategy and Marketing. “Zimmermann and I have a good relationship going. Why would he turn down an interview?”

Mitchell had shaken his head. “He told Media Relations that he wasn’t going to do any interviews except those he already agreed to with You Can Play. You know how he gets about the media.”

“But we’re not ‘the media’,” Cassidy pouted. “We’re on the same team. And he trusts me.” She had wanted to explain exactly why Jack trusts her, but doing so would betray his trust and make her point moot. “I don’t get why he won’t talk to us.”

Her boss had sighed. “Let it go, Cassidy. This is a sensitive topic, and he’ll talk about it when he’s ready. Or not. It’s none of our business.”

“Fine.” She hadn’t groaned, though she’d wanted to. But she definitely thinks the whole thing was an overreaction on the part of the VPs, who don’t really understand the rapport she has built with Zimmermann over the past few years. Cassidy bets that if she asks Jack personally, he would definitely say yes.

In the meantime, she just allows herself to enjoy the Opening Night festivities and makes sure that they get a couple good shots of Jack’s symbolic pre-coming out for their video. Interview or not, this is going to blow up, and Cassidy wants to make sure it looks like Zimmermann and the Falconers are a united front.

“This looks great, Meredith,” she tells her. “Just tighten up the game action segment a bit. And I like the shots you have of Zimmermann. Thanks for fitting those in.”

“Not a problem. As long as the bones look good, I’ll just shave off those wonky transitions from Cam’s footage, and hopefully we’ll be out of here in less than thirty minutes.”

“That’s why you’re my favorite editor,” Cassidy says, smiling. If it’s going to be another half hour, she is definitely going to have another donut.

***

Cassidy gets home just after midnight. The full-body exhaustion that she’s been staving off all day with caffeine and adrenaline finally takes over her muscles, and she slumps onto the couch. She should really go to bed, but first she wants to watch the Zimmermann You Can Play video, which was supposed to drop at 12:00 a.m. tonight. She opens up her laptop to check, and sure enough, it’s right there on the main You Can Play landing page. She presses play.

The video itself is mediocre from a production standpoint, at least in her – okay, probably biased – opinion. She had asked if she could be a part of the shoot, but YCP had gone with some outside production company that does a lot of commercials for brands like Nike and Gatorade. They “know athletes,” supposedly. Well, they certainly do not know Jack Zimmermann. The entire minute-long video is just game footage of Jack spliced in with what someone must have thought were intense shots of Jack in uniform, standing alone on an empty rink. The lighting is awful, and whoever was producing it either didn’t care that Jack looks stiff and uncomfortable the whole time, or else just ignored it. Cassidy knows that if they had wanted to make Zimmermann look at ease, they should have given him something to do with his hands and had him move around. Even just skating with a stick would have given them better results, but whatever, it’s not her video.

Over the footage is a voiceover from Jack, in his Canadian monotone. But despite his lack of intonation and the lack of any decent footage video, Cassidy has to admit that the one thing they did right with it is focusing on Jack’s own words. She plays the video again and really listens.

When I was a kid, it was always my dream to play hockey in the NHL like my dad. I didn’t take the easy road to get there. A lot of people told me I couldn’t do it. But one of the best days of my life was when I skated out onto the ice for the first time as a Providence Falconer. Looking up and seeing everyone I love in the stands cheering for me:  my family, my friends… my boyfriend…. It was incredible. I almost didn’t get to play hockey because of the fear and anxiety I felt, which was in part because I was a closeted athlete. But I’m here to tell you that if you can skate, you can skate. If you can shoot, you can shoot. If you can win, then you can win. I’m Jack Zimmermann, a proud member of the LGBT community and the NHL, and if you can play, then you can play.

It’s straightforward and direct, just like Jack. People will definitely comment on how he seems to be defying every gay stereotype, though Cassidy is pretty sure it’s not intentional. He just comes across as himself: slightly awkward, intensely determined and obsessed with hockey to a fault. She can already tell this is going to have a huge impact, provided that people watch the whole video without the terrible production value forcing them to stop or Jack’s monotone putting them to sleep.

Okay, maybe that’s a harsh assessment, but she really could have put Jack’s historic words to a more fitting, engaging backdrop. It seems almost criminal that this video, which is going to be seen millions of times, now and forever, is so damn boring.

***

The next day, Cassidy decides to send a message to Jack directly. She knows her bosses are going to flip if they find out, but it will be worth it if he says yes.

It’s not that she doesn’t understand how sensitive of a topic this is, but now that Jack has decided to come out, she doesn’t understand why he’s staying so buttoned up about it. If it’s not a secret, then why shouldn’t Cassidy take his story and make something really meaningful from it? It could be something that speaks to a generation of athletes who might have otherwise felt unable to play while being true to themselves, but she can’t do anything if he won’t even talk to her.

She keeps the message simple and professional, simply asks him if he would be willing to reconsider allowing Falcs TV to do a feature on him and this historic moment. It doesn’t have to be long; she would just need 15-20 minutes of his time, and she would be able to put something really great together.

His response comes a day later.

***

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Interview Request

Hello Cassidy,

Thanks for your nice message. Unfortunately, I won’t be doing any interviews about coming out, at least none in the near future. It was a really difficult decision for me to even decide to come out publicly, because, as you know, I prefer to keep my personal life private. I don’t want this to take away from my work on the ice.  The whole point of doing this is to show that who an athlete loves shouldn’t matter to the sport they play. In that regard, I believe the message of You Can Play is aligned well with my goals and intentions, which is why I’m doing the YCP PSA and that’s it. Besides, I think actions speak louder than words most of the time, don’t you think? I don’t want any attention and interviews to distract me from my goal of bringing another Cup to Providence.

I still am looking forward to working with you on other things this season. I can’t wait to see what shenanigans you have planned for the holiday sweater video this year.

See you around the rink,

Jack Zimmermann

***

Cassidy can’t blame him, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating.

She explains as much to Linnea at brunch that Sunday. The Red Sox were unexpectedly knocked out of the playoffs in the first round when they had been expected to far, so Linnea suddenly has a couple weeks of offseason she hadn’t been expecting. They meet up at least twice a year, once during the baseball offseason and once during the hockey offseason.

“I don’t understand it at all. Why come out if not to share his story with others? He could do so much to make sports, especially hockey, that much more tolerant.”

Linnea cuts into a stack of pancakes, smiling for some reason – probably because it’s been awhile since she’s seen Cassidy all wound up like this. “Yes, he could, but is that really his job? Let’s not put the weight of a broken system on one dude with a known anxiety problem just because he can shoot a puck into a net.”

“But that’s my point. If he shows the world that you can be the best at hockey and be out of the closet, then others will feel safer coming out too, and then he won’t have to hold up all the weight on his own.” Cassidy takes a huge bite of French toast, covering her mouth as she chews to keep talking. “He can’t be the only gay player in the pros. Think of the kids out there who have been beat up in locker rooms because they’re gay or different. If told right, Jack Zimmermann’s story can change all that. Doesn’t he want to help people?”

Linnea smirks. “Maybe he just wants to stop hiding and start dating male models instead of female ones.” She interrupts herself. “Are we ordering another round of mimosas?”

“Yes,” Cassidy responds without hesitation, before continuing. “I doubt that’s the reason though. Didn’t you watch the video? He’s got a boyfriend.”

“I sort of tuned out because of the monotone. Did he really say that? That he has a boyfriend?”

Cassidy leans in. “Even if he didn’t, just between us, now that he’s out and everything, I can definitely confirm that Zimmermann has a boyfriend. And they’re disgustingly adorable together.”

“Aww,” Linnea says, pouring more syrup onto her plate. “That’s cute. But is he a model?”

Cassidy sits back again. “He’s a judge on that new baking show, Sweet or Salty, on the Cooking Channel. Does that count?” Cassidy realizes too late, as Linnea pulls out her phone to look him up, that while Jack Zimmermann having a boyfriend isn’t a secret, his boyfriend’s identity might be. “And you’re not supposed to know that. I’m not sure if they’re going public with their relationship or not.”

“Oh, he’s cute,” Linnea exclaims, pulling up a couple promo photos and swiping through all of the ones with Eric in them. “I’m assuming he’s the young, blond one and not the fat, old guy.”

Cassidy laughs. “Breaking news! Not only is Jack Zimmermann bisexual, but he likes balding men with beer bellies!”

“I’ve seen stranger things,” Linnea says with a straight face, and then they both crack up. Once they calm down, she says, “I think it’s great that Zimmermann is coming out, and I think you need to just let him live his life. I know you can tell stories, and that you’re a great producer, but right now it’s not your story to tell.”

“Ugh, I know. You’re right,” Cassidy groans. “Like always. You’re like my wiser, older self telling me what I should and shouldn’t do.”

“Hey, I’m not that much older than you!” Linnea counters, pointing her fork at Cassidy. “I just know you.”

“Are you my conscience?” Cassidy says, imitating Dory from Finding Nemo.

She laughs. “Hell no. I’m the devil on your shoulder telling you to drink more mimosas.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cassidy says, grinning and lifting her glass. And maybe Linnea is right. Maybe she is obsessing over this Zimmermann story for the wrong reasons.

She thinks about it again later, and wonders for the first time why she feels so strongly about doing a feature on Jack. A bunch of reasons pop to the surface: She cares about tolerance in sports; she’s been profiling Jack Zimmermann since he was a rookie; she hates that You Can Play video.

The real reason comes to her gradually, starting as just a half-formed idea layered underneath the thousands of other thoughts swimming in her brain. It’s less of a thought, and more of a feeling, like being unsatisfied even after eating a meal. She pushes it away, focusing on her endless pile of work during the season, but it stays in the back of her mind.

She’s hungry for a meaningful project, and she’s not sure when her next chance to get one will be, at least if she stays with the Falcs…

Chapter Text

As soon as it’s announced, Cassidy gets approved to cover the ESPY Awards, and for once, it’s not even a huge battle. All it takes is a few calls with the event managers of the awards show – calls teeming with gratuitous “Jack Zimmermann” name-drops – to score press passes as well as tickets to the show for her and a cameraperson.

It hadn't been a surprise when ESPN announced that Zimmermann was going to be awarded the Arthur Ashe Award for Courage – part of Georgia Martin’s elaborate coming out plan for Jack had included fierce campaigning on his behalf – but it is still exciting for the whole front office. They’re even organizing a watch party back in Providence that Cassidy would have gone to if she weren't here herself, in sunny Los Angeles, sweating her ass off in an entirely black suit while she and Emily wait for Jack Zimmermann to walk down the red carpet.

“What time is he supposed to get here?” Emily asks her, as if reading her mind.

“I was told 2:00 p.m.” She checks her watch: 2:15 p.m. “His hotel’s only a couple miles away. I guess it's true what they say about California traffic after all.”

Emily groans and adjusts her focus for the tenth time. “I thought this was going to be fun. Red carpet at an awards show… I forgot that most athletes are dudes and so they're all wearing suits. The only exciting thing I've seen all day has been Serena Williams . Even our dinky little local Emmy’s red carpet had more style than this.”

“Well, that's because we were walking it, not covering it.” She wags her eyebrows, and Emily smirks. They turn their eyes towards the road, squinting through the bright sunlight at the line of unloading limos.

It's been a long day for all of them so far. That morning, they'd had a “bruncheon” fundraiser, a joint effort by the Zimmermann Foundation and You Can Play to build community rec centers for LGBT youth – with ice rinks, of course – and Jack had been the keynote speaker. They’d gotten some great footage of Jack talking hockey over omelets with a bunch of teenagers. There had also been a live auction where Wayne Gretzky, Sidney Crosby and Bad Bob Zimmermann got in a bidding war over a half dozen pies, of all things.

When the price got up to $1000, Bad Bob had yelled, “Alright boys, I'm out. Besides, I can get these whenever I want.”

To which Gretzky had responded, “Then why don't you invite me over and we can share.”

Crosby ended up taking home the pies for an exorbitant $1,025 – although, Cassidy assumes, for a pro hockey player, it's basically pocket change. When she asked him about it, all Crosby had to say was, “Bitty’s pies are a legend around the NHL. I usually only get to have them at the All Star Game, but I don't know how many more of those I have in me, so I gotta stock up when I can.”

It takes Cassidy an annoyingly long time to remember that “Bitty” is Eric Bittle, but after that it all makes sense.

Now, standing outside of the Microsoft Theater with nothing but a protein bar in her pocket, Cassidy thinks she could really go for some pie...

Right at that moment, she receives the text telling her that Zimmermann is arriving, and kicks into gear. She shepherds Emily into position to get him exiting the car.

Jack steps out of the limo first, looking somewhat nervous, but glamorous in a well-fitted navy blue tuxedo. He stands up and gives a half wave to the various photographers gathered around, before turning around and assisting someone out behind him.

Eric Bittle steps out of the car in a black patterned tux, and glances around uncertainly, still clutching at Jack’s hand. He turns to Jack, and they stare at each other for a long moment, lost in one another amid the chaos before turning in unison to face the flash bulbs.

Cassidy had known for ages that they would be attending the event together, but it's clearly a surprise to many of the people there, both the fans lined up behind stanchions and the press crews alike. She snickers to herself as a nearby producer freaks out, yelling at his cameraman.

“I don’t care about Odell, Evan! Find out who that blond guy is with Zimmermann!”

She takes advantage of the uproar and waves Eric and Jack over from where they're posing for photos. Although they don't have time to interview them or anything, the boys do at least pose and wave for their camera before heading to the “Red Carpet Corner” to talk to the ESPN reporters.

The speculation over “Jack Zimmermann’s Mystery Man” had started as soon as his You Can Play video dropped, but this is the first time Jack and Eric have appeared in public together as a couple.

In very different circles, people have been simultaneously speculating about “Eric Bittle’s Special Sweetheart,” the one Eric can't help but gush about on his TV show and vlog. Cassidy isn't sure how big the overlap of people who care about both baking and hockey is, but she's sure those people are freaking out right about now.

It's not long before Jack is shepherded inside and the final few celebrities and athletes clear the red carpet.

Cassidy nods, satisfied. “Alrighty, let's go drop off the equipment and grab our seats. The show’s about to start.”

***

TRANSCRIPT OF JACK ZIMMERMANN’S ACCEPTANCE SPEECH

2020 ESPY AWARDS

PATRICK BURKE: And now, on behalf of ESPN, I am proud to welcome to the stage the 2020 winner of the Arthur Ashe Award for Courage – Jack Zimmermann! [applause]

JACK ZIMMERMANN: Thank you so much. Thank you, Patrick, and ESPN, and the family of Arthur Ashe for this honor. I feel so humbled to be honored in the same company as such incredible athletes and human beings as Muhammad Ali, Billie Jean King, Nelson Mandela, and many others. I would say that I’m speechless, but I was told to prepare a speech. [laughter]

I’m sorry in advance. I’ve been told I can sound like a robot if I’m talking about anything besides hockey.

First off, I would like to thank my parents, for their never-ending support. They were there for me, even when I couldn’t see it. Without them, I would never have played professional hockey, and wouldn’t have this amazing platform to be speaking to all of you today. And I’m not just talking about my father, who taught me everything I know about the sport. “Dad Bob” Zimmermann taught me how to compete, how to be a good sportsman, how to keep going when the odds are stacked against you. He knew me better than I knew myself sometimes, and was never afraid to give me the push I needed when I was too blinded by hockey to see what was right in front of me.

But I would also like to thank my mother, who taught me how to appreciate the past and plan for the future, how to be true to myself and how to find a window when I felt all my doors were closed. Without her, I never would have gone to college, never would have learned to love hockey again, never would have met the love of my life. So thanks, Mom and Dad, for everything.

Speaking of the love of my life, one of the main reasons I’m up here tonight is because that person is a man. For a long, long time, I never thought that I would come out. There were many reasons, both societal and personal that I never even considered the possibility, but there are a couple things that helped change my mind.

The first was – and I can say this now, publicly – my boyfriend, Eric Bittle. [applause]

Haha, yeah. Thanks, everyone.

Eric, who tore down my walls and taught me courage. I used to think I didn’t deserve you, but you’ve taught me to appreciate and accept the beautiful things in my life, and that includes you, most of all. One of the main reasons why I wanted to come out was to shout my love for you from the rooftops, but I guess national television will have to do... Is he crying? I can’t see because of the lights. Bittle, are you crying? [muffled shouting, laughter]

So, yeah. I won’t lie and say the past year has been easy, but every minute of it has been worth it, to be able to hold your hand and tell everyone that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me… besides winning the Stanley Cup twice, of course. [laughter]

But there was another reason I felt inspired to face my greatest fear and to publicly come out, to put my personal life on display for both the supporters and the haters to rip apart. A little over a year ago, I had a conversation with a scout for the Providence Falconers who told me that one of the most promising youth hockey players that the Falcs had been recruiting had to quit hockey to recover from a suicide attempt.

This was a young man whose scouting report said that he could play on any NHL team in the league, that he had the skills and strength to be a major player. He had a bright future…until he started getting bullied for having a boyfriend. He was harassed by his teammates, harassed by other players in the league, beaten up on multiple occasions, told by a coach that he could never make it in the pros if he was gay.

I could have played with this amazing young talent, but because he tried to be himself and love who he wanted, that chance was taken away from him. The thought terrified me. Here we are in the year 2020, and it’s still not safe to be out and queer. Young athletes are still feeling isolated from resources to help them with their mental health. Just being in a same-sex relationship can make a young hockey player a target for hate and violence.

I thought about this story a lot. I talked about it with my boyfriend – I love saying that, by the way – my boyfriend, who also grew up as a closeted athlete. And the two of them inspired me to take a stand. I don’t say this to brag, but I’ve won just about every single award a hockey player can win. I’ve been an All Star, an Art Ross winner, a Stanley Cup champion, and I am bisexual. I owed it to all those kids out there who have been told you can’t be gay and succeed in the NHL. Anyone who thinks your sexuality affects your ability to play your favorite sport is wrong. Anyone who believes your gender identity or orientation is enough to stop you from achieving your dreams is wrong. I almost didn’t get to play in the NHL. I almost overdosed on anxiety medication, but here I am today with a platform to make a difference, and that’s what I want to do.

I would like to dedicate this award to my fellow queer athletes, as well as those who are suffering from mental health conditions. It’s time to destigmatize these issues and to get help to those who need it. There will always be haters, and we have a long way to come for true equality for the LGBT community in the United States and Canada, and around the world, but no one should have to feel like they have no other options than taking his or her own life. That’s why I am working with You Can Play and the Trevor Project to help make the world of sports a safe space for all athletes.

I probably won’t give another speech about my sexuality anytime soon. I am passionate about these issues, but I firmly believe that actions speak louder than words. And plus, if you haven’t noticed, I’m extremely awkward. [laughter]

But whether I like it or not, hockey has given me a public platform, and if I can help even one kid who has been bullied, then it will have been worth it. So thank you to everyone, to my family to ESPN, and to Bitty, my light. I feel so fortunate to have you all in my life. You make me want to be courageous every day, and I hope to continue to deserve this wonderful honor. Thank you. [thunderous applause]

***

The official ESPYs after party is impossibly grand by Cassidy’s standards, but it seems to be only the first stop of many for the more important people and famous faces in the ballroom. People keep drifting in and out on their way to and from other parties. She herself had only been invited to this one because the wife of Falcs GM, Brad Barrows got sick at the last minute without time for him to invite another guest. Since Cassidy had already been there and is next up on the list of important Falcs front office people in L.A., she had been invited as an extra body, essentially. Barrows makes that very clear when he leaves to talk to Gary Bettman as soon as they walk in the door, leaving Cassidy to her own devices. It’s fine though. She feels awkward, but it’s nothing a few drinks can’t help.

She wades through the crowd of people, who seem to come in two types: old, short, white executives and tall, gorgeous athletes with their equally beautiful guests. Since she hadn’t known she would even be at such a function, she hadn’t brought a change of clothes, and is stuck wearing her sweaty all-black suit. She lets down her hair – wild, but thankfully not frizzy – and pops on some red lipstick and hopes she just blends into the crowd.

The bar is on the far end of the hotel ballroom, and luckily, the line is fairly short. She asks for a champagne, briefly considering ordering something stronger, when she recognizes the person next to her.

“Eric! Fancy meeting you here,” she says.

He whips his head around, then smiles in recognition. “Well hello there, Cassidy.”

They chat for a few moments as the bartender opens another bottle. “Jack’s speech was phenomenal,” she says, and even in the low light, she can see Eric’s blush.

“Thank you. I still can’t believe that big dork went and bragged to the whole nation that we’re together!” His expression doesn’t match his words; he looks so happy.

“It was cute,” she responds, taking the glass of champagne the bartender passes her. He passes Eric two more, and the two of them walk together a few steps to the side, out of the way of the crush towards the bar.

“He wouldn’t let me hear any of it beforehand,” Eric replies. “I’m usually the one he practices speeches with, even back in school before we were dating, so I was a smidge worried about how it was going to go. But he did so well! I’m so proud of him.” His smile is so warm and gooey that Cassidy wonders, not for the first time, how they were able to keep their relationship secret as long as they did. Just talking about Jack makes Eric a love-drunk teenager, and the same goes for the other way around. It’s weird though, usually taking in someone else’s secondhand lovey-dovey vibes turns her into an eye-rolling cynic, but that never happens with Jack and Eric. It could have something to do with their epic struggles to get here, but it also might just be that she’s shipped them hardcore for years. Either way, she likes watching Eric get so soppy over Jack. Tonight, they definitely deserve it.

“So how’s it been being paraded around like a trophy boyfriend,” she chirps.

Eric giggles. “I never thought I would be anyone's trophy anything. Jack’s the one who… well, you’ve seen him.”

Cassidy doesn't trust herself to answer. It's not like she can tell the guy’s boyfriend that she's literally drooled over his ass before. Instead, she hums and takes a mouthful of champagne, using the time it takes to swallow to come up with a response.

“You both looked great on the red carpet. Who are you wearing?” she asks teasingly.

In response, Eric turns to the side and poses, jutting his hip out. “It’s Armani! I asked the stylist over at my show if she was interested in a freelance gig, and she made it happen. She's a wizard. I should have gotten a personal stylist years ago!”

Cassidy laughs. “I hear you. Although I don't know if a stylist could help me. I haven’t worn a color other than black in about four years”

“There’s nothing wrong with black!” he responds. “It’s a classic.” He takes a sip of his drink, and suddenly a contemplative look comes over his face. He looks like he's deciding whether to tell her something. Over the past few years, Cassidy has become very good at turning looks like those into information. She waits a moment, twisting her champagne flute between her fingers and staring at Eric.

“What is it?” she finally asks.

He takes a step closer, and gives her a conspiratorial smile. “So. I know you said trophy boyfriend, but I'm not just here as arm candy.” She gives him a puzzled look and he continues. “I'm networking,” he whispers excitedly. “I'm have meetings set up with HGTV and Food Network while we’re here in L.A.”

“That's great, Eric!” she says, clinking her glass on his. “Before we know it, you'll be the famous one at awards shows and Jack will be the trophy boyfriend – or maybe husband?”

“Oh gosh,” Eric’s blush deepens. “I mean… well…” He laughs, but doesn’t really answer the question. “Still though, Jack’s been really supportive, even if it means we have to do sort of long distance/home swapping thing for a couple months a year. But I'd get way too bored just sitting around waiting for him to come home from road trips.” He gestures as he speaks, miraculously not spilling any liquid from the two glasses of champagne in his hands. “Besides,” he continues, “I like TV. It turns blogging into a team sport. At least, that's how I’ve been explaining it to folks.”

Cassidy smiles sincerely. “I'm so excited for you.”

“Thank you,” he says happily. “I wanted to tell you, in particular, because…” He trails off, looking away shyly. “Well, I still feel like you were the one who gave me my ‘big break,’ you know?” Cassidy laughs until she see that Eric’s serious. “I mean it. I owe you so much. And I feel like you’re always there for me or Jack when we need it.”

She shakes her head; it’s her turn to blush. “I never did anything special, or beyond what anyone else would have done. If anything, all I really did was recognize talent when I saw it. If it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else, especially since you’re dating a hockey star. Just look at the Currys.”

Eric places his hand over his heart and closes his eyes. “Ayesha Curry is my spirit guide and role model. If I can accomplish half of what she has, I will consider myself a success.”

“That's what I'm saying though!” Cassidy exclaims. “You're already a success on your own right. You’re the youngest person I know who’s a cooking show judge.” She grins at him, clinking his glass. “You're gonna go far, Eric, and I can't wait to say. ‘I knew him when.’”

“Oh hush, honey. That's what I'm going to be saying about you.” He's sincere, but definitely flushed from her words.

“Seriously doubtful,” Cassidy responds, thinking about how little she wants a spotlight on her. “The best part about being behind the camera is I get to keep my anonymity. No autographs for me!”

Eric laughs, touching her arm with the back of his hand, still clutching a glass of bubbly. “Maybe so, but haven't you given any thought to what you'll do after this?”

“Huh?” The question catches her off guard. “After the party?”

“No, silly! Although, I heard Kobe hosts an incredible party…But no, I’m talking about what you’re going to do after Falcs TV.” He takes in her confused expression. “I’m just saying, there are a lot of ESPN executives here… Maybe I'm not the only one who can use this as an opportunity to network.” He winks.

“Maybe,” she says, staring down into her drink.

Eric continues. “You’ve done some really great work with the Falcs, and I’m sure some of the people here have seen it. That feature on George was incredible. It made me cry!"

She chuckles, blushing. “I’m not sure if I should say sorry or thank you.”

“Both,” he declares, which makes her laugh. “And let's be honest,” he continues.  “I love those Falconers Faceoffs videos, but how many more of those can you stand to do? With your talent, either you should be running the place, or you should go somewhere else where you can really show off what you can do creatively.” The more he talks, the more the gears in her own head start turning. “Besides, you've already accomplished the hardest task you'll ever face at Falcs TV, and that's making Jack smile on camera, so what else is there to learn?”

“There's… stuff,” Cassidy mumbles, but it's a shock to her system to hear this person who barely knows her express so clearly the thoughts she's been struggling to come to terms with for months. It seems so clear all of a sudden. “I wouldn't mind an opportunity to do more long-form features...”

“I'm just saying,” he says, “talkin’ to some of these suits can't hurt. I'm sure Jack can introduce you to the folks who put together the intro video they did for his speech.”

“Oh no, I don't want to impose.” But actually, that had been an amazing video. She wouldn't mind picking the brains of the team that put that together.

“I’m sure it's no big deal. Why don't you come find us in a little while, and I'll make sure Jack knows where they are to point them out.” He says it with such a flourish of professional courtesy wrapped in southern hospitality that she feels compelled to accept.

“Um, okay? I mean, thank you. That would be great.”

“Perfect. We’ll be a while since Jack is caught up talking to Jordon Spieth about golf,” Eric says it like it’s a dirty word, “and that could go on all night, but then I’ll be sure to connect y’all.” He flashes her a grin and waves goodbye, heading off in the direction of the tall cocktail table where Jack is standing, talking to Spieth and his wife and a couple other people Cassidy doesn’t recognize. She watches as Eric moves over to him, handing him one of the champagne flutes with hearts in his eyes. From her angle, she can't really see Jack’s face, but if his body language is anything to go on, he’s probably returning the tender look. Jack wraps his arm tightly around Eric’s shoulders, slotting him in like his missing piece. How incredible it must be to have this after so much time hiding.

As she moves away from the bar, Eric’s words swirl around her head. It's been a long time since she envisioned the future, since she truly tried to picture where she wants to be in five years, or even two years. Where would she be ten years from now? Suddenly, the comfortable inertia of the past few seasons seems unsatisfying and insufficient. She glances over at Eric again, watches him curving into his professional hockey player boyfriend. He's set for life, by most accounts, and yet he's still trying to achieve his dreams.

She decides then and there, if Eric Bittle is still working towards his dream career, then she should too. And who knows? Maybe that dream starts here, in a room full of influencers and icons eager to tell their stories.

Chapter Text

Cassidy flicks through pictures on her tablet, nursing the last dregs of a latte and killing time before her appointment. She thinks to herself that the sports media really needs to take a leaf out of entertainment media’s book. Falcs TV has been trying to squeeze any detail about Jack Zimmermann’s wedding out of him with no success. For months she’d been trying to figure out where the wedding would be held, how big it would be, whether Jack was going to wear his hockey jersey or have Frank the Falcon, the Falconers’ mascot, walk him down the aisle. Now though, Food Network Online has a whole VR experience on everything from their matching tuxes to, obviously, the food. Apparently – and Cassidy should really know this by now – if anyone wants info out of Jack, the best way to get it is by going through his husband. Eric gives an interview, too, and he manages to share so much while still maintaining Jack’s privacy. It's actually pretty impressive.

According to the article, Eric planned the whole wedding himself, with the help of his mother, and had even designed the ridiculously extravagant menu, though the rest of the wedding party had forbidden him from actually doing any of the cooking on the day of.

“I did do quite a bit of stress baking the night before though, from the nerves, so we were able to put out a few extra pies along with dessert,” his quote says, and Cassidy can picture it perfectly: Eric, unable to sleep on the eve of his wedding, stressing over details and nervously baking a couple pies. She wonders if Jack was there to help.

The pictures of the wedding are exquisite, especially since the ceremony itself took place on the ice. Of course, Jack Zimmermann gets married on the ice. They chose the rink at Samwell where they used to play together as the venue. An intricate layering of long metallic gold carpets are laid out in a crisscross pattern across the ice for guests to walk on. It looks like an apple pie lattice crust, Cassidy realizes at once, and suddenly she's not sure which of the two grooms is the bigger dork.

And they are dorks. In between pictures of what he's making or shots of his TV show set, Eric likes to post adorable pictures of Jack doing boring normal things like washing dishes, taking out the trash, selfies, even Jack’s baby pictures once. Jack posts 90% hockey, 5% selfies with Eric, and 5% inspirational quotes – which are all hysterically cheesy and always sent around the Falcs TV group chat for comic relief.  For all that people want to make Jack and Eric out to be a minor power couple – they even have their own couple name: “Zimbits” – neither of them is really “Hollywood,” so at least they've been able to avoid the truly invasive nature of the paparazzi. This wedding article is the first really in-depth look at their relationship from a major publication. In fact, up until this, the only two people who have really been invading Jack and Eric’s personal privacy this year have been Cassidy and Eric themselves: Eric with his embarrassing photos, Cassidy with her ongoing mission to get Jack to show personality on camera.

But if this wedding feature shows anything, it shows how Eric’s popularity is clearly growing beyond the regional level of being just a “hockey husband.” Jacks face might be on the NHL 2022 video game, but Eric is the face of Land o Lakes butter, according to a commercial she saw just last night. And the new show he's working on is getting a lot of buzz. According to a spinning pop-up at the corner of her tablet, he officially has more social media followers that Jack ever since Beyoncé posted a picture with one of his pies.

Who would have thought their careers would take off like this? Jack’s never said it, but Eric has gone on record a couple times so say that the stress of having to choose between their relationship and their careers had been a struggle for him and Jack in their early years. And now they're married and more successful than ever.

At least a dozen professional athletes in the four major sports have come out since Jack did, including the Aces’ Kent Parson. He did it so nonchalantly too. Just said in one of those dumb scoreboard videos that his favorite thing about Las Vegas was going dancing with his boyfriend. At the postgame presser, all he said had been, “Yeah, and? Doesn’t anyone want to talk about my game-winner?”

But all the same, the new awareness of LGBT athletes has led to a huge crackdown on homophobia in the sports community, to the surprise of many cynics who thought there was no hope left. Even the NFL added a league-wide LGBT Week.  It didn't make harassment and homophobia disappear – the vocal minority is still good for a hateful soundbite once in a while –but overall, the response has been overwhelmingly supportive.

As she flicks through the last of Jack and Eric’s wedding photos, Cassidy thinks how inspiring their whole story has been. They've taken on the haters like a team and have supported each other as they achieve challenging goals in each of their own demanding careers. She’d been thinking of them when she had applied for the ESPN Feature Producer position she's about to go interview for. This is her second interview, so it's harder not to get her hopes up, but the job is literally perfect for her. She’d almost emailed Eric to tell him she's taking his advice, moving on to bigger, bolder challenges, but she doesn't want to jinx it. Maybe she'll tell him if she gets the job.

She hopes she gets the job.

She channels Eric Bittle’s and Jack Zimmermann’s bravery as she finally exits the tiny cafe and marches back, head held high, towards her interview and hopefully the start of a huge new journey.

Chapter Text

To : [email protected]

From : [email protected]

Subject : 30 for 2030

Hello Cassidy,

I'm following up after our phone discussion earlier today. After speaking with Georgia, she seems excited to meet with you to participate in your upcoming 30 for 30 special on Jack Zimmermann. She said she remembers you fondly from your Falcs TV days and is glad to hear that you're doing well over at ESPN.

After some tricky calendar maneuvering, I've cleared a few hours for you to interview Georgia on the afternoon of June 30. Unfortunately that's the earliest possible date, given the Draft. Please confirm that that date works for you and I'll send along a calendar request.

Thank you,

Stephanie Peretti

Executive Assistant to the General Manager

Falconers Hockey Club

***

To : [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject : Re: 30 for 2030

Hi Stephanie,

Thanks again for setting this up. The 30th works fine for me. I'm looking forward to being back on my old stomping grounds!

I will be bringing a crew of four, including myself. We will be in one vehicle, so if we could secure parking that would be wonderful. Otherwise, let me know if you need anything else from me.

Thanks!

Cassidy Hernandez

Vice President of Feature Content

ESPN Films

***

To : [email protected]

From : [email protected]

Subject: Re: Fwd: Re: 30 for 2030

Cassidy--

Looking forward to seeing you again and talking about our favorite center forward.

George

***

The only apparent difference in Georgia Martin’s demeanor or appearance in the last several years since Cassidy last saw her is the arrival of both stress lines in her forehead and laugh lines around her eyes. It's the face of someone who has a challenging, stressful job and who loves every minute of it. Her appointment to GM when Brad Barrows retired had been an obvious one, and one that has since been universally lauded by fans and front office alike. It certainly didn't hurt that her first draft pick won the Calder, but that was just scratching the surface of her keen hockey mind.

Cassidy has respected and admired her for so long that it catches her off guard when Georgia speaks to her as an equal. She guesses having VP in her title is good for something after all…

The interview goes unsurprisingly well, with Georgia speaking with her usual eloquence and understated sass, focusing on that ‘19/’20 season when Zimmermann first came out. Although she had suspected so, it’s fascinating to confirm that George had been Jack’s confidante for a long time before he even had considered going public with his relationship, even before that first Cup, back when Cassidy first saw Jack and Eric together – or at least together together.

“And I think that's it for me,” Cassidy says, wrapping up after about an hour of interviewing. “Any last thoughts?”

Georgia shakes her head. “Just that I’m happy for Jack that so much care is being put into this feature. Hopefully I gave you something you can use.”

“With you, always,” Cassidy replies with a smile.

“Speaking of things you can use…” Georgia adds. She gives Aiden on camera a pointed look. “That's not recording, right?”

Aiden just shakes his head, pressing a button so all of the lights on the camera turn off and removing it from the tripod. She nods and then moves to open a drawer in her desk. She takes out an old fashioned external hard drive. Cassidy hasn't seen one in years, not since all things audio and video moved entirely to the cloud.

“I have some old footage you might want for this feature,” Georgia says with a twinkle in her eye.

Cassidy looks at her confused, but then it hits her, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh! Is that…”

“Stanley Cup celebration, 2017. I'm assuming you remember it.”

“I do.” She takes the hard drive from Georgia, flipping it over a few times in her hands. “I was going to ask you about it, but I figured there was no way you kept it all these years.”

“You should know better than most what good records we keep over in Falcs TV.”

That makes Cassidy smile. “But if I remember correctly, this particular footage was not allowed to be archived.”

“Things change.” She pauses for a moment, tapping her lips. “I wonder if those two remember it.”

“I guess we’ll see in a few months,” Cassidy replies with a shrug.

“So you're going to use it?” Georgia asks, seeming genuinely curious.

“Pardon my French, but hell yes! It's literally the best footage I've ever shot.” She smiles at the memory from over a decade earlier, the last time she’d ever had to shoot her own material. “The only hard part will be deciding where in the piece to put it. Chronologically, it’s pretty early on in their story, but if it's as compelling as I remember, it might be a nice clip to end on.”

“I'm sure you'll figure it out.” Georgia stands, holding out her hand, and Cassidy shakes it firmly.

“Thanks again for taking the time to do this.”

Georgia adds her other hand to the handshake. “It was my pleasure. I've always had a soft spot for Jack. It's about time his story was told properly, by someone else who has a soft spot for him.”

As they're leaving, her intern production assistant, Ollie, turns to her. “So what's on the hard drive?”

“Have you ever even seen one of these before?” Cassidy chirps, ignoring the question.

“Nope.” Ollie has learned by now to let Cassidy go off on her tangents, that the point will be made clear eventually.

“It's how we backed up media before the cloud really took off,” she tells her, sounding like her parents when they used to explain cassette tapes and payphones.

“I know what it does,” Ollie says, not rolling her eyes, because she’s professional. That’s one of the reasons Cassidy likes her. “I'm just curious to know what footage is on there,” she continues.

After a moment, Cassidy responds. “It's Jack Zimmermann and Eric Bittle back in 2017, right after Jack and the Falconers won the Stanley Cup for the first time. It's pretty great stuff. Really emotional footage.”

She knows she’s just whetting Ollie’s curiosity, not satisfying it, but she doesn't want to ruin the effect of seeing the footage for the first time. There are certain things in life – certain stories and pictures and relationships – that are capable of proving that true love exists in the world, and Ollie deserves to have the experience, same as Cassidy did way back when, of watching Jack and Eric be that proof.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure this is the right house? It seems kind of small…”

Cassidy climbs out of the car, holding a nice pinot noir and a bottle of chardonnay, chuckling at her boyfriend. “You’re not the first person to think that. Just because they’re famous doesn’t mean they’re flashy.”

“Huh, well that’s cool.  In my head, I always pictured Eric Bittle in a mansion,” David remarks, walking around the car to meet her.

“It’s probably because his show has such a huge kitchen set.”

“Exactly!” David agrees. “It’s like you want the rest of the house to be proportionate to the kitchen.”

“You know that’s a set right and not a real kitchen?”

He grins at her. “Yeah, but I bet his kitchen is pretty nice though.”

“It is. I’ve seen it.”  

“Oh, yeah!”

They walk up the long driveway and ring the doorbell on the Bittle-Zimmermann house, and Jack opens the door.

“Cassidy! Hello, it’s good to see you. I wasn’t sure if you were coming.” He looks honestly happy to see her, which eases Cassidy’s nerves quite a bit. This is the first ‘social” meeting she’s had with Jack and Eric. They’ve been in each other’s lives so long, it seems bizarre that they’ve never spent time together when they weren’t all working, but here they are. “Come in, come in,” Jack continues. “Bitty’s in the kitchen. Obviously. You can put your coats in here.” He gestures to a spare room off the foyer.

“Thanks for having us,” Cassidy says, sincerely, as she shucks her coat. “And I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, David.”

David steps forward and shakes Jack’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jack. I’m excited to watch this in-depth documentary on your life and get to know you better.”

Jack laughs at that, caught off-guard by David’s dry sense of humor. “You haven’t seen it yet?” He asks, turning to Cassidy for confirmation.

She shakes her head. “I told him he had to wait until it was finished like everyone else.”

Jack just nods. “I made Bitty wait, too. I knew I was going to have to watch it beforehand for approval, but you do such good work, I wanted him at least to see it in its final version.”

The complement catches her off-guard. “Oh. Um… cool.” She realizes too late, when they’re already heading down the hall, that she probably should have just said “thank you.”

They follow Jack into the main living space, a gorgeous open great room with the living, dining, and kitchen spaces seamlessly flowing from one to another. Jack keeps talking, which is something Cassidy has learned he does more often in his own house than at any hockey-related event. “Since I wouldn’t let him see it beforehand, Bits wanted to have this viewing party. He felt that if he had to wait, he might as well make an event out of it.” His voice drops to a stage whisper. “Although, it’s not like he needs a reason to make something into an event.”

Cassidy and David laugh politely, and David glances at her, eyebrows raised and clearly wondering if this is her normal: having inside jokes with pro athletes and TV stars. She shrugs a shoulder. Maybe it is her normal.

Most of the guests have already arrived to the house. Cassidy recognizes a couple of guys from the Falconers – past and present – and a woman she knows to be a producer on Eric’s Food Network show, Bitty’s Bites, but most of the faces are new to her.

“Ms. Cassidy!” someone calls from the kitchen, and Eric rushes out from behind the island, wearing a frayed, fading Falconers apron. “I’m so glad you made it!”

“I’m so glad you invited me,” she replies, handing him the two bottles in her hands.

“You shouldn’t have!” he says, setting the bottles down near a wine fridge built into the kitchen island. “And who is this?” he asks, smiling broadly at David.

“This is my boyfriend, David. He’s a computer science professor at Yale,” she adds, only bragging a little.

“Well, we’re delighted to have you, David,” Eric says, charmingly.

“I promise I like sports!” David blurts out. “And Food Network,” he adds, as Cassidy hides her face in her hands. So much for bragging. He might be her boyfriend, but he’s a dork.

“No one cares, David. Just be cool,” Cassidy groans, gratefully taking the glass of white wine that Eric hands her.

“Sorry.” He sheepishly takes a glass from Eric as well, and they move towards the couches in the living room. Cassidy pats David’s elbow, letting him know that they’re still good. As they’re sitting down, Jack runs through quick introductions of the other guests. In addition to the hockey players and their families and TV people, there are also a handful of Jack and Eric’s college friends.

A gaggle of children run through screaming, including Jack and Eric’s two kids. A man with a mustache chases after them, cackling. A pretty, petite woman shakes her head from the couch. “Babe, stop terrorizing the kiddos!” she yells at him. “You’re almost 40. You’re gonna break a hip.”

“Babe, I’m a dragon,” he says, like it’s obvious. “It’s my job to terrorize them.”

“That’s Shitty,” Jack tells Cassidy and David. “Ignore him.”

“Wait, is Shitty his name?” David whispers in her ear a few moments later, baffled.

There is food everywhere – on the coffee table, on trays, on the counter – and all of it looks incredible. It tastes even better, and Cassidy wonders why she never made an effort to truly befriend the Bittle-Zimmermanns sooner.

“This is amazing,” David says with his mouthful of homemade crab puffs. “One of us should really learn how to cook.”

“Which one of us has time to cook?” she counters, popping another puff in her mouth. “I already bought Eric’s cookbook.”

“So how do you know Jack and Bitty?” the tiny woman interjects. “I’m Larissa, by the way, though you can call me Lardo.”

Cassidy is fairly confident she will never, ever call this woman – or anyone, really – Lardo, but replies, “I used to work for Falcs TV, which is where I met Jack.”

“She directed and produced the movie tonight,” David adds, his turn to brag, and Larissa’s face lights up.

“Oh! That’s ‘swawesome! We’re all really excited to see it,” she says.

“I hope you all enjoy it,” she says, still blushing at the complement, even after doing this for so many years. “It was a fun project, definitely the most fun piece I’ve worked on in a long time. But if it’s bad,” she adds, joking, “you know who to blame.”

“Yeah, Jack,” Larissa jokes. “Our expectations when it comes to Mr. Robot over here—” she gestures at Jack, “—are pretty low.”

“Don’t worry, I found creative ways around using his interviews,” Cassidy teases. She looks at Jack, who’s listening with a half-smile, like he’s used to the chirping. “I had to give my editors a raise after this piece. Between shortening Eric’s answers and making Jack’s usable, they really had their work cut out for them.” Everyone within earshot laughs.

“They did a good job,” Jack says, and Cassidy smiles at him.

“I’m only joking,” she says. “I got amazing stuff from both of you. I’m very excited to see the reaction.”

“Oh, Bitty’s definitely gonna cry,” Jack says as Eric walks towards them, arms crossed.

“So? What’s wrong with crying?” he retorts.

“Nothing’s wrong with crying,” Cassidy assures him. “As the producer, I can say definitively that these 30 for 30s are made specifically to manipulate your emotions. You’re supposed to cry.”

“See!” Eric says, waving at Jack. “She wants us to cry.”

“I never said it was a bad thing!” Jack replies. “I never said I didn’t cry when I saw it.”

Eric’s eyes widen, the ready-to-go chirp falling away from his lips. Jack flashes him a sly grin, before turning around to refill his glass, hiding his face from the group. Eric blushes slightly, and Cassidy gets a flashback to years and years ago, when she used to observe these two together, looking at each other with stars in their eyes when they thought no one was watching. Even now, with definitive proof of their relationship about to air on national television, their feelings for each other seem so genuine, so passionate. She hopes again that she was able to capture that passion in the feature. She’s been too close to the piece for too long to really know.

She gets distracted again by dinner, a buffet-style set up on the dining room table with a ton of mouthwatering food. The wave of children reenters and leaves again in a whirlwind of sweet potato fries and chicken tenders. Someone’s teenager follows after them with a plate, obviously on babysitting duty.

The adults go through after and load up on a huge variety of delicious-smelling dishes. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been to an event here before,” Larissa tells them as they sit down again, “but make sure you save room for pie.”

“Did you know I’ve known Eric for over a decade, and I have yet to taste his pie?” Cassidy replies, cutting into some tri-tip.

“What the frack?!” the mustached man yells from Larissa’s other side. “You’ve never eaten Bits’ pies? You’re missing out!”

“What are y’all screaming about?” Eric says, coming in and sitting on the corner of the huge couch.

“Cassidy says she’s never tried your pie,” Larissa responds.

Eric gasps, horrified. “Are you sure? Oh my goodness, I’m mortified! My mama would be so upset with me. The checker at the grocery store has tried my pies. How could I have forgotten to make you one?”

“It’s fine,” Cassidy assures him.

‘It’s not! Oh lord, I can’t believe I dropped the ball so badly.” He looks frantically towards the kitchen, fidgeting as if he’s thinking about getting up.

Jack puts a hand on his shoulder, sitting down next to him. “You’ve already made three pies for tonight. You can’t go make another one. You’ll miss the show.”

“But Cassidy deserves her own pie,” he whines.

“It’s really fine!” Cassidy assures, sort of shocked. “I really don’t need my own pie. But I will admit I’m excited to try some. Everyone from Sidney Crosby to Guy Fieri has raved about them.”

Eric seems somewhat mollified, although Jack has to keep whispering in his ear as they eat, a firm hand on his thigh to keep him from getting up and rushing to the kitchen. However, by the end of dinner, Cassidy’s not even sure she wants dessert. The food had all been insanely good, and even just trying a little bit of everything had meant an overflowing plate. She feels about ready to burst.

“I take it back. Neither of us will ever be able to cook this well,” David whispers in her ear, and she nods in agreement.

As the 8:00 p.m. start time approaches, everyone in attendance starts moving to refill their glasses and make sure their children are okay, before ambling over find a good seat on the couch.

“Ms. Cassidy, would you like to address your audience?” Eric asks once everyone is settled, just a few minutes before the start of the show. He phrases it as a question, but starts waving her up as if she’s to give a speech. She’s had just enough wine to feel totally comfortable with it.

“As you all know, tonight is the season finale of 30 for 2030, ESPN’s yearlong revival of their documentary series. You may or may not know that since I’m the VP of Feature Content at ESPN,” David whoops, clapping, and a handful of the others join in, which makes Cassidy’s cheeks redden. “It’s really nothing to clap about, everyone. I only say that to explain how I’ve been very involved with this series from the beginning. When we first started talking about this revival, Jack’s name was the first on my list. We wanted to tell meaningful stories that transcended sports, and Jack’s journey has inspired millions, including myself.” She looks directly at Jack and Eric. “If we’re being honest, this is the piece I’ve wanted to produce since you guys went public, but it took me nearly ten years to get the interview,” she jokes. A wave of laughter rolls through the room.

She continues. “It’s been my pleasure getting to know Jack and Eric over many years, and I am very eager for you all – some of their closest friends – to see this film, because I don’t know if I’ve ever been prouder to be associated with a project. Jack and Eric, you allowed me to share your hopes, your fears, your hearts with millions of people, and I don’t think you realize how grateful I am, or how inspiring it will be.” She looks around at all of the faces looking at her and suddenly feels nervous. “And that’s it. Enjoy the show! If you don’t like it, blame my editor.”

Everyone chuckles as Cassidy retakes her seat, and Eric pushes a button to lower a digital projection screen from the ceiling. With the push of a few more buttons, the lights dim and the screen comes to life. The last thing Cassidy notices before turning her attention to the opening credits is Eric nestling in alongside Jack on the corner of the couch.

***

When the film ends and the lights come back up, Cassidy can see that at least half the guests have been crying. Everyone starts gushing to Jack and Eric, and even to Cassidy, about the story.

“I can’t believe you guys fucking eloped and didn’t tell us!” the guy with the mustache shouts, smacking Jack playfully on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “If your whole wedding was fake, then how come you didn’t let me officiate?”

“It wasn’t fake!” Eric protests. “It was just… delayed.”

David turns to her. “That was awesome, Cass.”

“Really?” She trusts David to tell her his honest opinion, but still.

“It was so good.” He looks over at Jack and Eric. “That final scene, the one from the first Stanley Cup…”

Cassidy smiles. “I shot that. It was probably the last time I ever had to carry a camera, and I wasn’t even supposed to be there, but yeah.”

“Well thank god you were there, because… wow.” He brings his hand to his chest, resting just over his heart. “Seeing them be in love…” He trails off, blushing suddenly, smiling shyly at Cassidy.

“Yeah,” she responds, is all she can say, really, because she gets it. They only recently said the words to each other, but it feels different this time, and seeing the overwhelming, soul-crushing love between Eric and Jack suddenly feels more like confirmation than aspiration.

Most of the guests start standing and gathering their things to head out, especially those with children, until eventually, there’s only six of them left. “I put August and Vanessa down with Marie and Richie, Lards,” Jack says, descending the stairs. “They all passed out during the movie, so it’s a good thing we already put them in their pajamas,”

“Thanks, Jack. They were so excited when we told them they were gonna get to sleepover with their favorite pseudo-cousins.”

“We need to do this more often,” Eric adds, uncorking another bottle of wine and filling up everyone’s glasses.

Cassidy meant to leave at a reasonable time. She really did, but it was never her strong suit. She’s been the last one to leave a party since college. It’s just that after a few drinks, people love telling stories, and after a few drinks, Cassidy can’t help but listen. She is an expert at keeping a conversation going and going and going. On top of that, these people are awesome. Eric is hysterical and snarky, while Jack has a witty, dry sense of humor, and excellent chirping abilities. David and Larissa end up in an animated conversation about their respective Vietnamese grandparents, while Cassidy finds herself in an intense discussion with Shitty – and yes, that is what he is called, except by the Bittle-Zimmermann children who call him “Uncle Spitty” – a about gender representation in sports. It’s only been one night, and she already obsessed with each of them in their own way, like the characters in her favorite story.

She gets up to go to the bathroom, and when she comes back, David, Larissa, and Shitty are deep in conversation, laughing and chatting like they’ve known each other for years. Eric and Jack are standing together in the kitchen. Even more than a decade later, they still gravitate towards each other. They’re still completely in love. It’s different from when they were young and trying to make a name for themselves, unsure of what challenges lay ahead. Theirs is a love that’s been tested and challenged, that’s survived the wild events of the documentary they all just watched as well as the mundanity of sharing a life every day with the person they know better than they know themselves.

They whisper together like teenagers, blushing, touching and smiling with impossible fondness. Eric tilts his head up, and Jack kisses him, quick and sweet. He pulls away, and Eric just touches his chest, smiling, and Jack loops an arm around his shoulder. They fit so well together, she thinks, returning to the group.

It’s nearly 2:00 a.m. when David taps her arm. “Hey. You ready to go?”

She nods. She’s suddenly exhausted, like the time just caught up with her. Her legs wobble when she stands. Now that she thinks about it, her wine glass was never really empty, thanks to Eric. “Are you okay to drive?” she asks David, slurring a bit. “Because, like, I’m definitely not.”

David laughs at her, softly and fondly. “I’m good. I stopped drinking a while ago.”

He stands too, and they say their goodbyes. “It was so great to meet you,” Larissa – Lardo – says, hugging them both as if they were lifelong friends. “Hopefully we’ll see you again around here soon.”

“That’s up to Jack and Eric,” Cassidy says. “Hopefully I haven’t disgraced them with my filmmaking.”

“Not a bit,” Jack says, eyes drooping more than usual from the wine. “It was a really great show. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Eric adds, before his eyes grow wide. “Oh! I almost forgot!” He stumbles to the oven and pulls out a pie from where it has been warming. It looks fresh, and Cassidy has no idea when he had time to bake it. “I only had apples on hand, so I hope you like apple pie.”

“Aww, yes!” David says, fist-bumping the air.

“Is this for me?” Cassidy asks, gingerly accepting the pie. It’s not hot, but it’s still warm. She is completely touched, emotions heightened by alcohol and good company.

“Sorry it’s so long overdue.” Eric smiles at her, wrapping his arm around Jack’s waist.

They all say goodbye for the last time, and Cassidy steps outside, feeling fulfilled and satisfied in a way that she can never remember feeling before. It feels like she just finished a really great book. With the pie in one hand and David’s hand in the other, she savors the moment, feeling perfectly content and at ease.

“That was fun,” David says. “I liked them.”

“Me too,” she replies. “And I like you.”

“I love you,” he says back. He’s quiet for a moment, before whispering to her, “I think we can have what they have.” She doesn’t have to ask who he means by “they.”

“Me too,” she admits, also whispering. She feels vulnerable admitting it, but it also feel truer than it’s ever been. Saying it out loud is liberating and terrifying and wonderful all at once. She guesses that’s what love is supposed to be like.

They return to the car, and she rests a hand on David’s knee, thinking the whole way home how happy she is with her life.

***

The next morning, they have apple pie in bed. It’s the best thing she’s ever eaten.