8. Amelia
EIGHT
AMELIA
“I think that’s enough pictures.” Emerson Hartwell groans when the photographer takes a final snapshot of us for the league’s social media montage. “There has to be at least one in there where we’re both smiling.”
“My cheeks hurt.” I rub my jaw. “How do people in customer service positions do this all day?”
“I’d rather kick someone’s ass on the ice than figure out my good side.”
“Your left. Definitely.”
“Thanks.” She tosses her red hair over her shoulder with an easy air of confidence. “It’s a shame we barely saw each other when we were collegiate athletes. It would have been fun to spar against you, Green.”
“Wouldn’t have been much of a spar. Wisco beat Ohio State all four years while I was there, Hartwell.” I smirk. “That’s the only dig I’ll make, and I’ll keep the rest of the chirping until after Women’s History Month.”
“Goddamn. I knew I was going to like you. Sarcastic and snarky. My kind of woman.” Emmy hands her phone to one of the men behind the cameras. “Could you take a photo of us, please? I need to document the first of many times the two of us will be hanging out.”
We stand side by side, and our heights are nearly identical. She’s wider up top where my shoulders are narrower, but my hips have more shape than hers. We put our arms around each other, both laughing when we straighten our spines, trying to be the tallest.
“I’m not wearing my chunky sneakers,” I say. “You have the advantage today, Hartwell.”
“I appreciate you agreeing to this. Between you and me, I think it’s a bunch of performative bullshit to show how ‘diverse’ the league is.
” She puts the word in air quotes, and I nod in agreement.
“They can take all the pictures they want, but we both know there’s a lot of work left to do.
We barely have a seat at the table. Everyone wants to pretend like they’re our biggest fans to our faces while secretly hoping we fail. ”
It’s the most honest assessment to describe how I feel most days. Grateful for the opportunity, yes, but endlessly wary of anyone who might be a touch too kind. Glad to work beside men who encourage me, sure, but hesitant to accept praise from someone I’ve never met.
“For what it’s worth, I’m pulling out a chair for you to sit next to me in the small space I have.
Our teams might be facing off tomorrow, but we’re the outliers.
We’re allowed to support one another even when others don’t.
” I smile. “And if that’s a problem, I’ll tell anyone who complains to fuck off. ”
“And that’s why I can put our college rivalry aside and declare you my new favorite person in the name of taking down the patriarchy.
” Emmy beams and AirDrops the photos we took.
“Shit. I have to run. Coach scheduled a surprise weight training session despite kicking our asses at practice this morning. Here’s hoping I’m able to skate in our game tomorrow. ”
“Go. We’ll link up soon.” I wave her off. “Good to see you, Hartwell.”
“You too, Green.”
She turns, jogging down the hall, and I decide that spending time with her was worth the headache from all the smiling.
Later in my hotel room, content and happy after a meal with the coaching staff, I post the photo Emmy and I took to social media. I caption it women in sports and tag her, smiling at the notifications that come pouring in.
It’s rare I share my personal life with the world.
I’ve long believed I don’t owe anyone any insight into moments that don’t pertain to my job, but this photo is different.
It’s the merging of both parts of me, and I want any of the women out there watching my story to know you can be more than one thing.
You can be the coach of a men’s professional sports team, but you can also be the woman who roots for other women in your field.
There’s room for Emmy and me to coexist without it turning into a competition, and I’m going to fall asleep knowing I have a new friend I can call when I need help navigating any of the shit directed my way.
One notification in particular catches my eye, and my grip tightens on my phone.
GMoneyEverett18 liked your photo.
It’s the first real trace of him anywhere on my social media, and I stare at it. Spontaneity races through me as I tap over to his profile.
There’s a photo with a blonde girl who has the same cheekbones and smile as him.
Another of him and Ethan Richardson, shirtless and standing on the back of a boat. Grant is caught mid-laugh, sunburnt with freckles littering the bridge of his nose. His body looks leaner than it did last season, with soft skin giving way to muscles in his biceps and chest.
The next is him with Riley Mitchell. They’re wearing matching glasses and holding up a Lego set.
A team shot, Grant sitting in Hudson’s lap and resting his hand on Connor McKenzie’s thigh.
My heart rate kicks up. I click over to the message icon, and my thumbs fly across the screen. I type out a message and pause to read it back.
@AmeliaGreen
You’re quick to dole out likes. Please tell me your life is more exciting than sitting around waiting for me to post on social media.
I hesitate. If I send this, I’m opening the door of communication. It’s no different than the messages I have in my inbox from other players. The ones that say great drill idea, AG, and a drunken go Badgers!!!! after our alma mater beat Minnesota last week, but it feels different.
A friend.
He can be a friend with a mutual interest in hockey and good sandwiches. That’s allowed. I hit send before I have the chance to second-guess myself.
I don’t have to wait long for his response. It comes back almost instantaneously, and I sit up.
@GMoneyEverett118
I’m going to say yes, only so you don’t think I’m pathetic.
How did it go with Emmy? That’s a great pic.
@AmeliaGreen
It was lovely. She’s amazing. We’re planning to take over the world.
@GMoneyEverett118
That’s a leadership team I can get behind. I’m going to make Green/Hartwell pins and hand them out.
I smile and lie back down, turning on my side.
@AmeliaGreen
Wonder if you’ll still think that when we beat you all tomorrow.
@GMoneyEverett118
Guess we’ll see.
@AmeliaGreen
I shouldn’t be socializing with the enemy, so I’m going to leave you on read for the rest of the night.
@GMoneyEverett118
The enemy, huh? That’s fair.
@AmeliaGreen
Good night, Everett.
@GMoneyEverett118
Do you know what the best part about social media is?
I was supposed to close out of this conversation three messages ago, but I’m typing out another response instead.
@AmeliaGreen
What?
@GMoneyEverett118
You’re not a coach on here, so your rules about names don’t apply.
Good night, Amelia.
My heart pounds like a drum I swear the whole hotel can hear.
I fumble my phone and turn it off, setting it on the nightstand.
Out of sight, out of mind. Not something I’m going to give any more attention to tonight.
I close my eyes, glad to fall asleep without thinking about Grant Everett and whatever names he wants to call me.