Work Text:
PHILIPS
Gwyneth Philips is thinking about dinosaurs.
That wouldn’t be unusual on its own. Everyone from her teammates to the coaches to the fans on the Internet know about her special interest. It’s basically impossible to stop her from thinking about dinosaurs.
But where she is right now? At this moment? Anyone else might be shocked to find her pondering the unusually long claws of Therizinosaurus.
Because at this moment, she’s tensed up in front of the net during a playoff hockey game, tens of thousands of fans at Canadian Tire Center watching with bated breath as the Ottawa Charge take on the Boston Fleet in the semifinals. Whoever wins here gets to advance to the finals and take on Minnesota (ugh) or Montreal (yay!) in the finals, and claim the Walter Cup for their team.
The stakes could barely be higher.
So why is she thinking about dinosaurs right now, instead of, I don’t know, the game playing out in front of her?
Because if she thinks about dinosaurs, she’s not thinking about Aerin Frankel.
***
Gwyn has a system. Long ago, when she was just a kid, she found that she played better if she let her mind wander a bit, thinking about things that aren’t hockey. Left to its own devices, her subconscious took over. And her subconscious, it turned out, was a hell of a goalie. Over the years, she’s perfected her method of spacing out, because if she started thinking about the game, her performance would immediately start to plummet. But her subconscious had a mind of its own, and she could always count on it in a tight situation. Sometimes, to herself, she thinks of herself as Gwyn and it as Philips. The person the fans watched with awe, who performed miracles in net for Ottawa day in and day out? That, she told herself, was just a mirage of reflexes and well-trained instincts. The real Gwyn was in the back, curled up with a book about dinosaurs, while Philips did her thing.
She doesn’t really mind. After all, the moment she steps off the ice, the pressure is off and there’s no need to distract herself to do her best. She can just be herself around her teammates, even if they don’t really understand her.
Not like the one person who understands her more than anyone.
Not like Aerin Frankel.
And that’s why she has to keep thinking about dinosaurs tonight. Because if she starts thinking about Aerin, she’ll start to think about the game. The game for all the marbles, that Aerin is in with her.
That Aerin is on the opposite team for.
That she has to win, or she’ll be letting her teammates down. They’d never forgive her for losing focus in a playoff game, for having sympathy for the other team.
If she starts thinking about Frankel, two hundred feet away in the Boston goal, Philips will disappear and Gwyn will be in charge.
And Gwyn is terrible at hockey.
***
Her mind wanders, not to the Aerin on the ice today, but to the Aerin of her fondest memories, the days when they were teammates on the Northeastern hockey team. Goalie and backup goalie. The way it should be. The two of them together.
Of course, most of the time they spent together wasn’t on the ice. During practices, it was Frankel and Philips, competing to see who could be the best in the world. Who could make the most saves in a single practice.
Of course, there was never really any doubt about that. Frankel was goalie, and Philips was backup. But they were still a bonded pair.
It was Aerin who had first pried her out of her shell, back when she was a freshman and Aerin was a junior. None of the other girls seemed to take much interest in the distant, awkward girl from Ohio who they saw in the dining hall or at classes. But Aerin was different.
It was always Aerin who was pestering her to hang out or to study together. Aerin who would show up unannounced and sit alongside her when she was feeling lonely. Over the years, they grew closer and closer, until it was hard to imagine a time when she hadn’t known the shorter girl from New York.
She doesn’t remember the first time they met. That sort of thing is for stories, after all. First meetings rarely make an impression on either party. It’s what comes after that matters. Late-night hangouts turning into sleepovers, endless marathons of Game of Thrones (which Aerin claimed to hate but which Gwyn adored.) The two of them, practically a single unit in those days. Goalie and backup goalie.
But it couldn’t last. Of course it didn’t last.
They even got an additional year together. Through some kind of twisted miracle, thanks to the pandemic, Aerin was allowed to stay on the Northeastern team for a fifth year. It was a gift, and they both knew it. But that only underscored just how temporary it all was. That last year, Gwyn had fallen back into herself and her feelings, preemptively grieving for the loss of her best friend. More than that, of course, but Gwyn never knew how to put that sort of thing into words. Even the glory of reaching the Frozen Four for the second year wasn’t enough to lift her spirits. And so, when they said their tearful goodbyes, Gwyn did something she almost never did. She let Philips take control while they both cried, hiding in the back of her mind so she just didn’t have to feel anything anymore. That was the only way to escape it all.
The next year was a bit of a blur. With no Aerin around to guide her, Gwyn felt herself slipping more and more into the Philips persona. Despite being, by her own admission, just reflexes and instincts, Philips turned out to be pretty good at acting like a person, most of the time. As a starting goalie, she was finally able to shine in her own right. The Huskies made the semifinals again, but couldn’t break through, once again. It was starting to feel like they just weren’t good enough. Besides, she barely cared. Philips was the one in charge, walking her around like a puppet on strings while she crawled deeper and deeper into her own mind.
But then the 2023-2024 season rolled around, and suddenly there was a brand new league. The Professional Women’s Hockey League was in its inaugural season, and right out front was Aerin Frankel, a newly minted star for PWHL Boston. Suddenly, she could watch her best friend, her other half, out there on the ice every week. Sometimes, she imagined that Aerin was looking at her through the camera, that she somehow knew her friend was watching her play at the pro level. But that was just a fantasy. And Gwyn was too busy worrying about what the older girl would think to reach out, even if they were just a few miles apart. Surely her unhealthy obsession with her teammate couldn’t be reciprocated.
But Gwyn held on to hope, in the bottom of her heart. She knew that after she graduated in the spring, she’d be entering in the PWHL’s draft. And with all her heart, she wanted to be drafted by Boston. Then things could be just as they always had been. Goalie and backup goalie. Collegiate hockey flowed around her in waves, but she was immune to it. All her focus was on the PWHL, and on Aerin.
And still it took her completely by surprise when the object of her obsession showed up at her door.
***
That damned Aerin Frankel! How dare she waltz right back into her life, as if she had never left, shaking the December snow off her boots and sweeping Gwyn into a surprisingly tight hug.
This was a normal thing for girls to do when they were friends, of course. Gwyn knew this. But still, in Aerin’s arms, she found herself forgiving her friend immediately. Some things were best not to question.
The next six months were almost like old times again. Of course, much of the time one or both of them was off at an away game, Gwyn with the Huskies and Aerin with the as-yet unnamed PWHL Boston. But with what little time off they had, they spent almost all of it together. Goalie and backup goalie, out wandering around Boston parks or visiting the local animal shelters, laughing over milkshakes until they both nearly choked. Gwyn was in the stands for the first-ever PWHL Finals that year, with Boston facing off against the purple-clad Minnesota. Heartbreakingly, they lost in five games. It seemed that even at the pro level, both of them were bound to be denied a championship. Months earlier, Northeastern had failed to make their playoffs altogether.
But that was nothing, really. Aerin was here and so was the draft. Everything was coming up Gwyn. She waited anxiously for the moment to come and then…
Ottawa. She was going to Ottawa. Of course.
Aerin tried to console her, of course. “You’ll do great there!” “The Ottawa players are so cool!” “We’ll get to play against each other all the time!” The New York girl never did seem to pick up on other peoples’ feelings, but Gwyn was okay with that. To be perceived in this moment of renewed grief would have broken her entirely. So again, in this moment of maximum emotion, she let herself slip into Philips, on what should have been the happiest moment of her life.
Of course, they were still able to be together. With the new league in full swing for its second season, she numbly marched off to the newly named Ottawa Charge, where she met her new teammates. Their names seemed to flow off her mind like water. None of those names, after all, was Aerin. She was sure that Philips would remember, after all. Her subconscious was getting pretty good at that sort of thing.
But this time, Aerin wasn’t really gone. Not like before. Whenever their two teams played each other, they’d find one another after the game, the tiny terror of offenses across the league would practically pin her against the wall with a massive hug. Gwyn didn’t mind the physical contact, surprisingly. From anyone else it would have been a no-go. But she understood that this was just how the Boston goalie showed affection.
She’d never really understood anyone quite like that before, not even her own family.
After that, they’d convene at the home of whoever wasn’t on the road, Gwyn tucking into a plate of chicken parm while Aerin put on an old movie. Eventually, Frankel would fall asleep next to her on the couch, leaning into her side. Gwyn listened to her friend’s breathing for a while, there in the dark with the volume turned down on Twelve Angry Men. It would be so nice if things could stay like this forever, she though. But that’s not the kind of thing girls say to other girls who are their friends.
Not even in the PWHL, where girls across the league were hooking up with their teammates with shocking frequency. Aerin had told her, in lurid detail, about the time she had caught Megan Keller eating out Alina Muller in the locker room showers before a game. That kind of thing was fine for everyone else, but Gwyn couldn’t see herself ever doing that sort of thing with Aerin. Their connection was far beyond sex, something like a cosmic string of fate tying them together.
Of course, she could never say such things out loud to the girl currently drooling into her lap. Aerin was such a strong personality, but she also fit in so much better with the other girls around her. If Gwyn tried to explain her feelings, the shorter girl would assume she wanted some kind of romantic-dinners-and-hotel-room-sex kind of relationship. That terrified her. As much as she felt she understood Aerin, she couldn’t rule out the possibility of ruining their friendship that way.
She could just keep her feelings to herself, and well, if things got complicated… she could always ask Philips to fill in for. Every goalie needs a good backup, after all – or was she the backup, and Philips the primary?
Muzzily, as she finally drifted off, she wondered if there was a name for that sort of thing.
***
The 2024-25 season sped by in a blur of red and green, and before she knew it, it was time for the playoffs. This time the roles were reversed, with Gwyn (well, Philips) out on the ice and Frankel in the stands. Game one of the semifinals was a 3-2 upset victory over the #1 seed Montreal Victoire and their terrifying wall of a goalie Ann-Renee Desbiens.
That night, in her league-provided Montreal hotel room, she tried to relax – but the stress of the playoffs kept eating at her, and even her usual chicken parm felt bland. Next to her, Aerin was trying to reassure her, but she let the words was over her. Meaningless sentiment, she thought, as she felt herself slip away from the front of her mind.
“Hey!” Aerin suddenly interjected, interrupting her ramble about scoring percentages and on-ice time. “Don’t do that, Gwyn.”
Startled, she jumped back to the front. “Do what?”
“That thing you do. Where you sort of slip away, and you’re not really there anymore.”
Gwyn was suddenly very uncomfortable. “You can… see that?”
“Girl, we spent three years playing together. I know an on-ice face when I see one. I also know that you’re not supposed to be in game mode off the ice.”
“I wasn’t… It’s not…”
Aerin grinned. “You’re freaking out about the playoffs. I know. The stress gets crazy when you’re in goal for the playoffs. And it’s different when it’s the big leagues. More… pressure-y.”
Against her will, Gwyn found herself nodding. “It’s just, like… All of those players out there are really, really good. So good they beat you out of the playoffs entirely. I’m your backup goalie. If you can’t stop the first-place Victoire, what chance do I have?”
“More than you think, babygirl. Remember, one player on their own is worth nothing. But you have your whole squad to back you up. If you trust in them, they won’t let you down.”
Gwyn tried not to blush at the use of the word “babygirl”. After all, that was a thing that girls called their friends all the time. “But what if I let them down? What if I let everyone down and ruin their careers?”
Her friend – her close platonic friend – grinned again. “Well, I’ve seen you play. As long as you’ve got your ice face on, and you keep a level head, you’ll do fine. Trust me. And I’ll be there in the stands watching if you need me.” That last remark was delivered with an uncharacteristic level of seriousness.
After that, it was back to normal evening stuff for the both of them – no more serious heart-to-hearts and no embarrassing confessions. Before they both knew it, it was the morning of Game 2.
Game 2 turned out to be, to put it impolitely, a bitch of a game. Despite Gwyn’s best efforts, the Victoire quickly jumped ahead to a 2-0 lead by the middle of the second period. Even from the depths of her mind palace, Gwyn started to worry a little bit. Not for long, though, as the Charge rebounded in the third with two goals, proving Aerin right about the whole “trusting your teammates” thing. The game lurched on into overtime.
And another overtime.
And another.
By the end of the third overtime, Gwyn could feel her muscles going. Even Philips was starting to struggle after so long. She brushed off her teammates and stomped off down the hallway to the bathroom. Suddenly, a small shadow loomed up in front of her. In a daze, she recognized Aerin, holding what appeared to be… a packet of concessions mustard? She decided she must be hallucinating from stress.
“Hey, Gwyn,” Aerin said, and lobbed the packet at her. “Eat this. It’s good for you.”
Gwyn tried to object, but Philips had already caught the disgusting thing and was pouring it greedily into her mouth. As gross as it tasted, she did feel a little bit better. Her muscles were a little less sore, and her brain a little less foggy. After an awkwardly long mustard-flavored moment, she finally managed to speak.
“What?”
Aerin grinned that cheesy smile of hers, the one Gwyn always treasured. “Coach Carla sent me to look for you. She says if you don’t get some electrolytes in you you’re going to pass out on the ice and embarrass us all. And your reaction times have been slipping, by the way.”
Philips groaned inwardly. “That’s great, babe. Now please move, because I really have to piss.” Still in her goalie gear, she shuffled awkwardly off into the bathroom. Behind her, she could swear Aerin blew her a kiss – no, it must have been her imagination, a mustard-fueled hallucination.
The rest of the game was a frenzied mess of more mustard packets that neither Gwyn nor Philips could fully remember. It wasn’t just her – everyone was on the verge of falling over from exhaustion after five and a half hours. When Montreal’s Dubois finally slid one past her with four and a half minutes left in the fourth overtime, it felt like an angel’s mercy. She could finally go home. Neither Philips not Gwyn was fully in control at that point – they both took turns dragging each other out of the stadium, running the world’s worst relay race as they struggled zombie-like back to their hotel. Gwyn didn’t even bother to turn the lights on before falling into bed fully clothed.
There was something yellow and very strong-smelling on her face. That was the first thing she was aware of as she drifted back to consciousness. Suddenly, she remembered the previous night’s mustard nightmare. But that was over, wasn’t it? Cracking open her eyes the tiniest bit, she tried to see what was going on and -
Aerin Frankel was sitting on top of her, waving a packet of mustard under her nose.
“Wakey-wakey! Time for breakfast! Goalies need a good night’s rest, but they need food too!”
Gwyn sat bolt upright. Or, well, she tried. The best her body could manage was about 30% of upright. She let out something that sounded like the groan of a dying wolverine. “Aerin, what the hell are you doing in my room? And so early in the morning?”
“Actually, it’s my hotel room. And for your information, it’s almost two p.m. Coach Carla said to let you sleep for a bit, but you have to get up eventually. The team is heading back to Ottawa tonight.”
Gwyn glanced around. Aerin was right. There was her Boston Fleet duffel bag on the floor, her lucky stuffed animals on the bed, and -
Philips took over.
“Frankel? Why are you not wearing a shirt?”
“Well, I just got out of the shower, silly. Plus, you’ve seen me shirtless plenty of times in locker rooms. What’s the problem now?”
Gwyn suppressed a blush as Philips tried to talk her way out of this sticky situation. “Frankel! You’re sitting on top of me! In a potentially lewd position! That one does not usually perform, even with teammates!”
Was it their imagination, or was Aerin Frankel blushing slightly? “Aw gee, I guess you’re right. I didn’t really think about it. Guess I’m pretty tired after that game too.” She jumped off the bed and started digging through her duffel for appropriate attire – in this case, a Northeastern Huskies sweatshirt.
“Isn’t that a little warm for May?”
Aerin winked at her. “I’ll manage.”
Two days later, she was back on the ice. Despite her initial disappointment, TD Place Arena had grown on her over the course of the season, and being back on friendly ground gave her a surge of relief. No more Montreal with its raucous fans and Star Wars music. This was her home now and Philips was ready to perform.
And perform she did. Nothing was getting by her today. Any time she felt a little bit weary, she’d glance over at the Ottawa bench, to where Frankel had inexplicably found herself sitting next to Coach Carla. She wondered what they were talking about, as they seemed to be deep in conversation for a lot of the game. On the ice Philips was a wonder, swatting down everything Montreal could send at her. She felt like she was flying. She was flying, and Frankel was there with her. By the time the third period ended, Philips hadn’t let a single puck by her – a perfect shutout. Maybe this was her year after all. Our year, Gwyn reminded her from the back. Of course. It took two of them to pull this off, after all.
Game four was almost as good, with just a single mistake late in the third denying her another shutout. It didn’t matter, though. Her teammates – her friends – had already scored twice for Ottawa, ensuring victory. They’d won at home, they’d beaten the first-place Victoire, and they were headed to the Walter Cup Finals. When they yelled during the victory celebration, it was Gwyn and Philips howling in harmony, a song of pure euphoria.
That was the moment she clung to in the days that followed.
Minnesota had always been scary, but she’d never seen them this scary. It seemed like in the playoffs, the girls in purple jerseys turned into something else, hungry, leering monsters that dared you to stop them from scoring. Montreal was good, sure, but it was mostly skill and talent that led them to the playoffs. The Frost were just faster and stronger and dammit they just wanted it more. Her nerves were so bad that in the third period, Gwyn accidentally fronted during a crucial play, bobbling the puck directly to a Minnesota player for an easy goal and humiliating herself in front of the entire city of Ottawa. After that, she tried to fall back into her old ways, letting Philips take more control than ever. Maybe that would finally let her get the championship they both yearned for.
Unfortunately, that seemed to have the opposite effect. Over and over, Philips found herself struggling in overtime, reaching for the support of a backup goalie who was off somewhere she couldn’t reach. Again and again, Minnesota snuck one by her in extra time. The next three games all ended in heartbreaking defeats. Philips was devastated – or she would be, but her heart had decided to hide from her.
***
It took three months for Gwyn to show her face again. Despite endless cajoling from Frankel, Philips’ backup goalie was seemingly unwilling to come out and talk about the finals. She didn’t mind Frankel’s constant stream of support, but she knew that she wasn’t really the one the Boston goalie was friends with. After all, she was just a heartless shell, the personified manifestation of the thing Gwyn was good at, the reason to keep her around. But Frankel had never loved Gwyn because of her hockey skills – it was because of their bond off the ice that Aerin Frankel was in love with Gwyn.
Philips was pretty sure of that, at this point. While Gwyn was off in fantasyland, running with velociraptors, Philips had begun to take careful note of the older goalie’s mannerisms, and match them up with what she’d discreetly researched about human relationships when Gwyn wasn’t looking. If Aerin Frankel had been a Parasaurolophus, Philips was sure Gwyn would have recognized the signs of mating behavior in her. But Gwyn was never nearly as sharp about humans as she was about dinosaurs.
Philips didn’t intend to force the issue, of course. As it was, she was an awkward third wheel, and any disruption to their fragile equilibrium could knock them off their game entirely. Even if she didn’t acknowledge it, she needed Gwyn to back her up if she wanted to play good hockey. And in any case, it would be improper of her to make some kind of half-assed romantic overture towards Frankel when Gwyn wasn’t around. After all, it wasn’t Philips she was in love with.
Ottawa didn’t do too badly in the draft that year. Though they lost their backup goalie Maschmeyer to the new expansion team PWHL Vancouver, they took a chance on the young Russian prospect Kadirova. Frankel didn’t speak much Russian, or any at all, but she immediately took a liking to the girl and her iconic hair poofs. Maybe next year would be their year. She sighed a little, remembering how many times she’d said that to herself after another season’s finals had gone the wrong way. Maybe next year, whispered a small voice deep inside her.
By August, it was clear that something was wrong. Philips was falling all over herself at practice, at times barely able to skate. Coach Carla eventually had to call up Frankel in Boston for help, which was such mom behavior of her. It’s not like Philips was a moody teenager in need of a pick-me-up from a friend. But she agreed to the friend-therapy session anyways, because that’s what Gwyn would have done. Philips wasn’t super sure if Frankel knew about the whole “two people” thing or not, but she did her best to keep up appearances either way.
They eventually ended up in one of the stadium back rooms, an unused medical room where players who couldn’t get enough of ice soaked themselves in freezing water to cure their muscles or something. Philips had never even thought about trying it. That just seemed like a terrible idea, and besides, Gwyn would kill her if she tried.
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea.
“Frankel,” she said, slapping the side of the ice bath. “Do you know how to run this thing?”
Frankel briefly looked shocked, then a smirk spread across her face. “Oh, I get you. Oh, shit. This is going to be so fuckin funny. Hang on, I’ll turn on the ice machine.”
Philips was briefly stunlocked as well. “Wait, you’re going to let me do this? I thought you were here to talk about my feelings and stuff. Get me back in the game after my fuckup during the playoffs.”
“Well, sure, that’s what I told Coach Carla. But I prefer to play the game as it stands, rather than start with a plan and fall apart when things don’t mach your plan. Here, help me shovel this ice.”
After a few minutes of ice-shoveling and water-filling, the bath was ready for action. Philips glanced over at Frankel – no, at Aerin. “So, should I just climb in with my clothes on, or what?”
Aerin’s grin had gone from cheesy to straight up devilish. “I mean, if you want. But I think, for this thing to work, you should take off all your clothes. She would hate that.”
Philips didn’t even realize the meaning of what Aerin had just said. She was too busy stripping off her sweatpants and T-shirt, then her bra and boxer shorts. Ironically, she was doing exactly what Gwyn would have done in a close game – retreat inwards and hope what she was doing was enough. Before long, she was fully undressed. Aerin shot her a thumbs-up as she levered herself over the edge of the bath and plunged herself into the icy water.
JESUS H MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST Philips WHAT IN THE EVERLOVING FUCK ARE YOU DOING?
Rescuing you, stupid.
AND THIS WAS YOUR IDEA OF A RESCUE MISSION?
Well, I was never the one with the brains. After all, I’m just a collection of reflexes and instincts.
OKAY BUT WHY ARE WE NAKED AND COVERED IN ICE WATER?!
Oh, that was Frankel’s idea. She’s probably filming this, by the way.
OKAY THAT’S ENOUGH. I’M GOING OUT THERE TO FIX WHATEVER YOU DID TO CAUSE THIS
Well, I won’t get in your way. See you on the other side.
***
They didn’t really talk about it afterwards. Gwyn was a little too frazzled from a combination of the ice bath and not fronting for three months to be fully there for a while, but she was pretty sure that some things had become plainly visible in that room that she preferred to keep covered up. And she didn’t just mean the whole “being naked in front of her best friend” thing. So it was lucky that Philips took a backseat off the ice for most of the 2025 preseason, and let her handle the Aerin stuff herself. She got the impression it was sort of an apology.
Things went on like usual for a while, Gwyn driving down to Boston every other weekend to see the person she treasured more than anything. But she began to pick up some clues that Aerin wanted to talk more about the whole mess that the last few months had ended up being. Gwyn tried a variety of stalling tactics on her friend, but Aerin eventually got the better of her one night in September, when they were both very tired and a little stoned. Aerin was laying on the floor of her apartment, Gwyn’s dog Paris sleeping on her legs.
“Mmm...Gwyn?”
“Huh… Aerin? What’s on your mind?”
“D’you remember what happened after you let in that goal in the finals?”
“Yeah. We lost.”
Slightly more persistent. “I know you lost. But do you remember the score of those games?”
“I… uhh. I’m not really sure. I think I wasn’t really there. Like you said. I slipped away.”
“Gwyn, this wasn’t like that. You were gone. Like, I’d look at your face and not recognize you. It was someone else out there playing. And not like your usual ice face either.”
“...I guess I maybe… kind of stopped thinking after that game? Like I just needed a break from it all. I could feel the crowd watching me and I decided I didn’t want to be there anymore.”
“You won Playoffs MVP, you know. They love you in Ottawa. They might even put up, like, a statue of you.”
“You know me. I’ll never be more than my worst moment, to them. Fans are fickle. I could get traded away and they’d cheer just as loud for the next goalie. I’m not like you. I’m not a hero.”
“I don’t know if the fans would agree on that. But how about this. You’re a hero to me.”
“What?”
“I know you like I know myself, Gwyn. You’re one of the best in the world. It’s you, me, and like, Desbiens up there at the top. You can’t let yourself start thinking you’re a failure just because some short girl from New York is out there stopping more pucks than you.”
“But I’m not… it’s not…”
“I know you. All of you. And you’re a damn good hockey player. I just need to know that you know that, so you don’t get caught up in yourself again.”
“Mmm… Aerin?”
“Yeah, Gwyn?”
She felt herself drifting off to dreamland even as she spoke. “Don’t… don’t ever leave me again, okay?”
Whatever Aerin’s response was, she was already asleep by the time it reached her ears.
***
By the time the 2025-2026 PWHL season rolled around, Gwyneth Philips was feeling much more like her old self. Regular time with Aerin definitely helped, but there was also a new energy in the air around the league. New teams! New players! Everyone seemed to be abuzz in a way that sometimes confused Gwyn. She sometimes wished she’d been around during the expansion draft – so many players were now on expansion teams, or had forsaken their old alliances to join a new squad of the original six. Maschmeyer was in Vancouver, of course, but Fleet captain Hilary Knight had sailed out west to join up with PWHL Seattle, now the Torrent, and New York’s Abby Roque had crossed the border to slot into Montreal’s offensive line. It seemed like a new beginning for everyone. But despite all this hubbub, the one thing on everyone’s mind was something else entirely.
The Olympics were coming!
She knew, intellectually, that they came around every four years. She’d watched plenty of Olympic women’s ice hockey as a kid, and had even flown out to watch Team USA play in 2010. During her college years, she and Frankel had privately dreamed about being named to the national squad for the Olympics, but of course they were too young, and there were only three goalie slots on the roster. Better to give them to the oldheads who were experienced than trust it to some green rookie who can’t even lace up her skates.
But this time, Frankel was the best in the world. No doubt about it, she was going to the Olympics.
The only question was, who would go with her?
Everyone tried to keep their gossip to themselves, of course. But it was everywhere. Speculation on which girls would play for which national teams was the primary topic of conversation for at least the first two weeks of play, until Coach Carla put a stop to it. “The only team we need to think about is the team we’re all on right now,” she commanded. After that, the gossip didn’t stop, but it mostly took place in back rooms and closets. The same closets, incidentally, that her teammates were always hooking up in. On one memorable occasion, she glimpsed a flustered Brianne Jenner stumbling out of a closet with her shirt half-unbuttoned, followed by the poofy-haired rookie Kadirova. Good for her, I guess, Gwyn thought before quickly turning away and pretending not to notice.
By the end of December, Gwyn was a nervous wreck again, and no amount of Aerin time could calm her down. Playoffs were one thing, but the Olympics were truly the apex of what the hockey world had in store, both in terms of glory and in terms of maximum pressure on the athletes competing. So while she hoped she would make the team, there was a part of her that feared all the attention would be too much for her.
She didn’t realize until the official Team USA roster dropped what it actually meant.
Aerin Frankel and Gwyneth Philips would be on a team together again, at the highest level possible. Sure, they’d played on international teams before, but that wasn’t like this. The number of people watching would be a hundred, a thousand times greater than any NCAA or PWHL or IIHF match. The entire world was watching.
But it wouldn’t matter, because they had each other’s backs. Goalie and backup goalie. Just like it should be.
***
Milano-Cortina was really, really different. She’d seen a lot of cities during her hockey career, even a few in Europe, but the amount of sheer activity that the Olympics seemed to bring was overwhelming. Everywhere she looked, tourists and athletes were rushing about, trying to get as much done in as little time as possible. Just two days until the opening ceremony, after all. The noise was just below deafening, a dozen languages and more echoing across the plaza. Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut.
Philips straightened and relaxed her tensed muscles. No need to react like that until it was actually time to suit up. For now, they could just take it all in, and try not to take too much in at once. She felt someone take her hand. Of course, Aerin was there, seemingly unfazed by it all. She was always the best at big crowds, it seemed. Philips allowed herself to be led towards the Olympic village, using Aerin as her lifeline in the buzzing hive of humanity. Before long, they found their way to the rooms Team USA had provided for them.
Or rather, room. Someone up top had decided that they should be roommates.
Gwyn Philips couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed at that.
Later that night, lying in bed, Gwyn wondered if there really was someone out there looking out for her. She’d never really believed in the kind of god people talked about in Ohio, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that some force of cosmic luck had brought her and Aerin together. Maybe it was fate, or destiny. Either way, she hoped things would keep putting them in the same place at the same time. Aerin Frankel, the star to her wand’ring bark, as a girl she’d briefly known in college would have put it. She wondered if Olivia, the mousy poetry major, would be watching her next week. Probably everyone she’d ever known would be watching.
But they didn’t matter. The only person that she cared about was Aerin. And she’d be right there at every match with her. No cosmic force could tear them apart.
She only wished she had it in her to tell her best friend how much she meant to Gwyn. In words that didn’t turn into Olivia’s flowery romantic mush the moment they left her mouth. Words that could never convey one millionth of her true feelings. Stupid, clumsy words.
She faded into sleep to the sound of Aerin snoring, like a lullaby in an ancient language.
***
The first two matches for Team USA were against Czechia and Finland, with Frankel in net. Of course, the USA massively outmatched the smaller European nations, but they still managed to put up a fair effort despite being, relatively speaking, pounded into the dust. 5-1 the first game, 5-1 the second. What a shellacking, as Gwyn’s dad would have said. She felt a little sorry for the goalie for Team Finland, Sanni Ahola, who was Gwyn’s backup back in Ottawa, still a rookie, and fresh off a bout of norovirus. Getting scored on that much at the Olympics was nothing to brag about, especially since Finland’s offense couldn’t get even one by the eagle eyes of Frankel.
And Frankel was flying. Gwyn had only had a few chances to watch her play in person since the Northeastern days, but she was leaps and bounds ahead of what she’d been even then, the Patty Kazmaier-winning college phenom. Now… she was a holy terror. Her reputation alone seemed to demoralize opponents. Gwyn wondered if they even ever believed they had a chance at winning, or if they just went along with it to give the Americans a sporting chance. Either way, it was no contest. If Aerin hadn’t been the best goalie in the world before… well now she was leading her team on a rampage through the Olympic prelims.
Next was Switzerland, though. Switzerland was her game. Normally she would be worried a little more. After all, it was the Olympics. But Philips had watched her squad play. They were the best in the world and they weren’t shy about demonstrating why. All she had to do was lock down her end of the ice and let Team USA do what they did best.
When it was over, she still felt elated. A shutout! A shutout in the Olympics! Even Frankel only had one of those so far. For this one moment, she felt as if Philips and the girl whose shadow she’d always stood in were finally equals. Teammates, soulmates, whatever their relationship was, they were still two of the best goalies in the world.
Of course, then Frankel had to go and prove a point by shutting out Team Canada 5-0. What a showoff that girl was sometimes.
Philips fired back with another shutout of her own, 6-0 against Italy in the quarterfinals.
Then it was Frankel again, evening the score by shutting out Sweden in the quarterfinals. So far, Team USA had only allowed a single point in their entire Olympic run – Frankel’s slipup vs Czechia in the first prelim game. Philips allowed herself a little pride in that fact – she had less goals allowed than Frankel. Take that, New York.
It was no secret who would play in the finals, though – both in terms of the teams that would play, and the goalies. The two best teams in the world: Team USA and Team Canada. And the two best goalies in the world: Aerin Frankel and Ann-Renee Desbiens. It was a match as fated as the stars. As fated, perhaps, as Aerin and Gwyn, if Philips was being honest with herself. As the hockey-playing part of her little duo, she always enjoyed watching Frankel play, even if sometimes it was hard to keep up with what she was doing. Sometimes it really felt like she had eyes in the back of her head. But Philips usually managed to learn a thing or two.
On the day of the final, all eyes were on Milan. The biggest match of the year – perhaps of the decade – and they were perhaps being watched by a hundred million people. No other hockey game in their entire careers would have this much viewership. Except, perhaps, if they were to make the team again in 2030. But that was a distant dream. Here and now, the gold-medal match between the two biggest hockey nations in the world was playing out.
And for the first time, Team USA seemed to have met their match.
Frankel was the first to slip up, allowing a goal in early in the second period. Normally, this wouldn’t have mattered, as Team USA was usually up two or three goals by then. But not today. Today Desbiens was a solid brick wall, standing between Team USA and Olympic glory. Maybe next year, a traitorous thought was already beginning to form as the third period ticked down. Ten minutes left. Eight minutes left. Five minutes left. Was the incredible power of Team USA’s offense truly toothless before Desbiens?
Finally, with 2:04 left on the clock, the gods smiled on them. Or rather, one god in particular, and her name was Hilary Knight. It seemed like only the best player in the world could score on A.R.D., but she somehow managed it. And they were off to overtime! Philips’ mustard-flavored dread quickly faded, though, as Frankel’s Boston team captain Megan Keller put an end to the gold-medal match just four minutes in. From there, it was all champagne and roses for Team USA. But a gnawing feeling emerged deep in Philips’ stomach. Sure, I was on the team, but I wasn’t in net when we won. I didn’t earn this gold medal. Frankel did.
There was no reason to say this sort of thing out loud, of course. A gold medal was a gold medal, and the last thing Philips wanted was to be a sore loser. Her family and friends wouldn’t care, and she had carried her team though the prelims and quarterfinals. Still, it was just one more thing Aerin Frankel had that she didn’t.
***
After that, it was back to Ottawa, and back to the daily life of the PWHL. With the Olympics out of the way, Philips finally found herself checking the standings. Boston truly was a menace this year, running neck and neck for the top seed in the playoffs. It seemed inevitable which teams would compete in the Walter Cup final, just like with the Olympic gold medal game. Philips was no slacker, but Aerin was on a completely different level this year. People were talking about her for MVP – as a goalie. That never happened.
Aerin and Gwyn still spent what time they could together, but something had definitely changed between them after the Olympics. Moments that once felt easy and natural felt strained, like something unspoken had snapped. Gwyn started driving down to Boston less and less, spending more time with her dog and her teammates. They were actually starting to understand her a little bit, surprisingly, despite what Aerin had called her “goalie weirdness.” Sure, she preferred building LEGOs to dating and ate the same meal after every game, but that’s just what goalies did. You got used to it. She especially liked the Russian girl, Kadirova, and even picked up a few words of Russian. (For some reason, one of the only English words the girl knew was “scissor”. She blamed that on one of the new girls, who were a bonded pair from Vancouver with a very broad definition of “dating” that included up to three other people involved.) Even Brianne Jenner warmed up to her eventually, once the stiffness of being around her team captain wore off and she just let herself be a person.
That was just it, though. She was allowing herself to be Gwyn around these girls, where before she’d just shut down and became Philips when it was time for socializing. Somehow, even, they seemed to “get” Gwyn, even if they didn’t fully understand her like Aerin did.
Aerin. Who she’d left behind. Who surely saw her with her new friends and thought she was nothing more than yesterday’s news. Why had she stopped texting, stopped visiting? She wasn’t even sure she could tell herself that. Was it just petty jealousy over the gold medal? Of course not. But Gwyneth Philips was never going to be the one that carried her team to victory. She couldn’t do it. And Aerin Frankel could. That was the plain truth of it.
Out of obligation, they spent one more weekend together before the end of the regular season. Boston had long since locked up their playoff seed, and it was looking like Ottawa might not even make the playoffs at all. Maybe next year. Aerin did her best to patch things up, but the words felt sour in her mouth. Always, her words failed her in the moment she needed them most. Aerin was off to the Walter Cup and Gwyneth was staying home.
Except that wasn’t what happened at all.
***
It came down to the last game of the season. Truly make-or-break territory for both teams involved, Ottawa and the Toronto Sceptres. Two Canadian teams, battling in a cross-province rivalry for the one spot left. Struggling for their spot in the limelight, when all the love in Canada seemed to go to the pompous Victoire and their gloating fans at Place Bell. She remembered all too well what it was like to play in that house of damnation. She hoped she wouldn’t have to face another round of playoffs there. The memory, of course, tasted like mustard.
Toronto never really put up a fight, and Philips watched as her team ran up the score. Even Kadirova got in a goal – good for the kid. By the time the buzzer ticked over to zero in the final period, she should have been elated. But Philips slipped away, and it was Gwyn whose heart sank as she realized what this meant.
She would have to play against the Boston Fleet in the semifinals. Against Aerin. Against the girl she’d been avoiding for the last two months.
She’d been given another chance at playoff glory. At the kind of respect she’d always dreamed of. But if she wanted to take it, she first had to destroy the person she loved most in the world. The person who’d been at her side since they were both awkward teenagers at Northeastern.
Suffice to say, she wasn’t looking forward to this series.
***
Boston was the higher seed, which meant they would have home ice advantage for the first two games. Naturally, this meant Gwyn had to make the drive down to Boston, like she hadn’t been doing all spring. Her memories bounced around in her head as the team bus rolled south across the border, trying to ignore Greco and Clark doing something salacious behind her. She’d made this trip so many times, and it always brought her to thinking about Aerin. What she meant to the Boston goalie. Whether Aerin felt the same way about her. Why she kept blowing money on driving all that way, because damn, gas wasn’t cheap and a PWHL salary was not that much. Whether their friendship was really over for good, or if they’d just hit a rough patch that they’d recover from. She didn’t think she knew enough about friendships to understand how they worked. And if she was being honest with herself, what she and Aerin had was probably a bit more than a normal friendship.
Before she knew it, they were rolling up to the Tsongas Center, site of the main event for the week. A swarm of fans in green and white milled outside, with a few booing at the appearance of the red Ottawa Charge team bus. Boston fans, she’d learned during her time at Northeastern, were highly territorial. The girls from Ottawa were quickly ushered into the locker room through a back entrance, where they couldn’t be harangued by the general public.
The Tsongas Center visitor room was painted in Fleet colors, of course. Gwyn suspected it was a form of psychological warfare, meant to intimidate the enemies of Boston before they ever set foot on the ice. This year of all years, it worked. Boston was the unstoppable juggernaut, and the fact that Montreal had eventually outpaced them was more a matter of scrappy tenacity than sheer skill. The focus of that skill was Aerin Frankel, the Green Monster. Gwyn privately thought it was kind of funny to call someone who was only 5 foot 5 a monster, but she couldn’t deny Aerin’s on-ice presence.
The moment she stepped onto the ice, she felt that presence like an icy wind. It was probably just her imagination, but the ice around Frankel seemed to crystallize into new darker shapes, like she had some kind of magical aura around her. Was this what her opponents saw, when they went up against her in the playoffs? Philips wasn’t sure. She took her place in net, where her team expected her to be. Where the entire city of Ottawa was counting on her to be. Directly opposite Aerin Frankel.
Maybe it was Frankel’s inexplicable icy aura, maybe it was playoff nerves, but Philips just couldn’t find her groove in this game. Ottawa jumped out to an early lead, but Boston responded with two goals in the second period. Every time she looked up, she’d spot Frankel at the other end of the ice, and Gwyn would switch in to start fretting about their relationship. At one point, she was so distracted she somehow ended up catching a penalty herself for tripping, something she hadn’t seen since she was playing pee-wee hockey as a kid! It was a bit tiresome, and by the end of the game they were still down 2-1. If this was how their series was going to go, it didn’t look like good news for Philips or the Charge.
Of course, in playoff hockey, one knows to always expect the unexpected.
***
Gwyn was in her hotel room, trying to decompress by half-watching an old black-and-white movie, when there was a knock on the door. A muffled voice called out, “Room service!”
Probably one of the girls on the team, she thought. Trying to cheer me up with some dessert after my tough loss. She pulled open the door, expecting a hotel bellboy with a cart full of sweet treats.
Instead, it was Aerin Frankel with a bouquet of flowers.
Not roses, thank God. Gwyn had never liked the smell of roses, and she especially didn’t like what they represented. Instead, it was something with small purple flowers that smelled inoffensively pleasant.
“Hey, Gwyn,” Aerin said with a sheepish look on her face. “Thought I’d drop by and see how you were doing.”
Gwyn was still reeling from Aerin being here, and with flowers no less, to the point where she simply couldn’t find any words at all. Of course, that was nothing new for her. She stood there stunned, unable to move or to say anything lest her clumsy attempts at reconciliation drive her favorite person in the world even further away. Seconds ticked past like the game clock was running down, with each moment seeming to carry ever more weight. Say something, do something, do anything at all, damn you Gwyn!
Philips decided to react.
Aerin Frankel was caught completely off her guard when Phillips pulled her into the same powerful tackle-hug that the Boston goalie had used on her so many times before, crushing the flowers between them as she finally found herself back in Frankel’s arms. Philips admitted to herself, for the first time, that she was perhaps just as fond of Aerin as Gwyn was. For different ways, but with the same burning desire for companionship that had driven their relationship over the years. In the end, it didn’t matter, because Aerin saw them like no one else saw them. Surely she understood that if she loved Gwyn, then she must also love the part of Gwyn that wasn’t Gwyn. At least, that’s what Phillips hoped as she decided to take matters into her own hands and launch this relationship back onto the right track.
Gwyn could feel Aerin’s rapid heartbeat for the long moments of their embrace. It felt as natural as her own. For once, instead of trying to find words, she simply clung to the shorter girl even tighter, as if to make up for the months of distance between them. In all parts of her mind, she hoped Aerin understood that this was the deepest expression of her love she could find.
Of course, no hug lasts forever. But this one lasted a good forty-five seconds, until they stumbled away from one another, Gwyn falling onto the queen-size hotel bed, Aerin stumbling against the still-open room door. After a few long deep breaths, Gwyn found herself laughing uncontrollably, overwhelmed with relief at the fact that all was right in the world once more. Moments later, Aerin joined her in flopping down on the bed, her laughter mixed in with Gwyn’s own, her hair falling across Gwyn’s face.
It was a perfect moment, one Gwyn would never forget.
***
Of course, there was still hockey to play. Philips couldn’t forget that for long, even in the newfound euphoria of having her other half back. Before she knew it, it was the morning of Game 2, and the two of them were headed out to the ice to their respective ends. This time, she imagined Frankel’s aura was less like a winter wind and more like a spring breeze, warming the land and sweeping away the darkness.
Unfortunately, this seemed to have an adverse effect on the Boston Fleet themselves. By the halfway point of the game, Ottawa was up 2-0, and the normally unflappable Frankel was looking very flappable indeed – utterly unlike her performance in the regular season. Boston managed to score once, but they couldn’t catch up to Ottawa. In desperation, coach Kris Sparre pulled Frankel off the ice entirely late in the second period – but this only led to further disaster, as Ottawa’s Gabbie Hughes managed to score a humiliating empty-net goal to further broaden their lead. Baffled, Gwyn tried to find Aerin after the game, but she was nowhere to be found, and she had no explanation for why the best goaltender in the world was suddenly making easy flubs.
Gwyn slept uneasily that night, and the old fear started to creep back in as game 3 began, this time back on her home turf at TD Garden Center. Frankel still wasn’t her usual self, but she seemed to at least be capable of keeping things tied up. With a minute to go in the third period, the score was even at 1-1, and Phillips could feel the phantom taste of mustard in her mouth. She was already bracing herself for the inevitable overtime when something utterly bizarre occurred.
Her view of the events was fairly bad, down at the far end of the rink, but she saw it on replays in the moments that followed. Ronja Savolainen made an ordinary shot that went well wide of the net with just thirty seconds to go. On any other day, it would have been an easy whiff and over with, but Aerin Frankel wasn’t on top of things today. The puck that on any other day would have sailed wide and been caught instead bounced back off of Frankel’s butt and directly into the Boston net. Aerin Frankel had just scored the game-winning goal against her own team in the playoffs with her ass. Every Boston fan and player in the arena was dying of embarrassment. Aerin must have felt like she was about to sink through the ice with shame.
And Gwyneth Philips suspected she was to blame.
***
Gwyn didn’t see Aerin again that night, but she dreamed of her. Aerin stumbling helplessly out of the net as a hundred Charge players blast her with pucks. Aerin being forced to return her gold medal out of humiliation. Worst of all, Boston fans jeering at Gwyn for being the reason their goalie stopped working. After a restless night, she wasn’t too optimistic about suiting up for another game, even if her team was up two games to one. She couldn’t stomach winning if it meant watching her soul mate crash and burn. By the time she was on her way to the locker room, she was filled with dread. So caught up in her own feelings, in fact that she completely missed the hands yanking her into a shadowed alcove in the tunnels under her team’s stadium.
It was Aerin, of course. Who else would do such a thing? Gwyn was mildly bemused by this development until she saw the look on Aerin’s face. Gone was her usual corny grin, replaced by grim determination. Gwyn started to speak, but Aerin mercifully clapped a hand over her mouth before she could ruin the moment. She paused just a second before placing her forehead against Gwyn’s, their eyes locked. The girl from Briarcliff Manor took one more deep breath before speaking.
“Gwyneth Phillips. I love you, and you are the best goalie in the world. Now go out there and make them believe in you the way I believe in you!”
And then Aerin kissed her.
Not on the lips. Thank god, not on the lips. Instead, a quick peck on the cheek, gentle as a falling leaf.
It felt like someone had set off a nuclear bomb inside her mind.
She could feel nothing but white-hot static for a long, long moment. By the time her heart had stopped beating out of her chest and her emotions had steadied, Aerin Frankel was long gone.
But her words kept echoing in Gwyn’s head as she suited up and prepared for the game
***
Neither of them played their best that game. But honestly, who could really expect them to. I mean, there’s only so much a girl can do to calm herself down after that sort of thing happens. Fortunately for the two goalies, their teams managed to keep the score even into the first overtime, and then the second. Which is where we finally return to our hero Gwyneth Philips.
Gwyn is thinking about dinosaurs.
Suddenly, despite all the distractions, all the chaos on the ice, she feels eyes on her from two hundred feet away. She knows in her heart that Aerin Frankel is looking at her. Once again, they lock eyes, their hearts beating in sync.
It is at this moment that Aerin Frankel lets one in.
Who can say why she did it, truly? Love is a mysterious thing. Sometimes it makes us do crazy things.
I don’t think Gwyneth Phillips minds, though.
In that moment, they are connected as though they are one soul.
What matters to our two goalies, in this moment, is that they will never be separated again.
And that’s worth more than any shiny object, at least to them.