3. Steppin’ Out #2
The Queens. Alex had scoffed a bit at the name, but the logo and colors—purple, black and white—were based on the LA Kings, and the designer in them could really appreciate the attention to detail and the overall professional look.
Everyone on the team had been welcoming.
Jess, the captain, paused long enough to ask Alex’s pronouns before introductions.
There’d been no weirdness. No double takes.
Just easy, matter-of-fact inclusion. The team was a mix of women: gay, bi, straight and one other non-binary player who used she/they pronouns.
It wasn’t the first bit of information Alex had been looking for when meeting the team, but it was an unexpected relief.
Like something in their chest had unknotted just a little.
Then just like that, Alex was playing hockey again.
They hadn’t realized how much they missed the feeling until their skates hit the ice.
The easy glide of sharpened metal over the surface.
The raucous sound of playful chirping and pucks echoing off the end boards.
They didn’t have their gear with them and had to borrow gloves, a helmet, and a stick from the rink’s equipment shop.
And the rental skates were brutal—loose in some spots and pinching in others. But damn, it still felt good.
After some stretching and basic warm-up drills, they divided up into two teams and squared off.
The center on Alex’s side won the face-off cleanly back to the defense, perfect for a rush up the ice.
Alex caught the pass at full speed and darted toward the net, weaving past the defense with a grin tugging at their lips. A quick stop. Pivot. Shot.
It rang off the far post—close enough for their full smile to emerge, but they still took out a little frustration with a chop of their stick on the net as they skated by. A chorus of cheers and laughter followed. One teammate fist-bumped Alex as they passed, another called out, “Not bad, new kid!”
By the end of the skate, their legs burned, and their lower back ached in that familiar, satisfying way. Their lungs were still catching up as they stepped off the ice, pulling the helmet off and running a hand through sweat-damp hair.
“You’ve got good instincts,” Jess said as Alex unlaced the rentals. “Bring your own gear next time and show us what you really got,” she added with a wink.
Alex smiled, then chuckled a bit. “You got it, Cap.”
***
Alex stood in the kitchen, a smile lingering as they stared out the window— Tricia had left about twenty minutes ago to meet some girlfriends for brunch.
The pool sparkled in the late-morning sun, and the landscaping Tricia had chosen exploded in bright, purposeful color.
Every muscle in their body had settled into a dull ache from yesterday’s unexpected time on the ice.
But they felt good. Alive. It was the first time in weeks—maybe months—that they felt truly present in their body.
Like they weren’t stuck in limbo between coasts, between lives.
All of their boxes and furniture had arrived several days ago and in relatively decent shape.
With no immediate place to move to, they stacked most of the boxes in the back corner of the garage.
They’d also unpacked a few essentials—clothes, books, the box with their hockey gear.
The furniture was split between some empty space in the pool house and the rafters in the garage.
They sipped their now-lukewarm coffee and headed to the living room, plopping down on the couch with a sigh.
Apartment hunting over the last week had been a total bust. They’d seen eight places.
Made calls to about twelve more. Each one was either too small, too expensive, or too depressing to imagine calling home .
Leaning back on the couch, Alex couldn’t help but reflect on how different things felt now compared to when they first moved to New York.
Seventeen years ago, they had left LA with a suitcase and a stubborn streak, ready to prove they didn’t need the Sharpe name.
College in New York, internships, freelance gigs.
Every move carefully calculated to earn credibility in an industry that never really let them forget where they came from.
But no matter how hard they worked, whispers about their family connections followed them.
Eventually, agencies grew wary, seeing them as a potential spy from the Sharpe family empire.
One by one, doors started closing, and it became clear that succeeding on their own might mean risking homelessness.
When their parents finally convinced them to apply to one of the family-owned companies, Alex made it clear it had to be on their own terms. Their parents agreed to relinquish any staffing influence, and with that assurance, Alex started at the bottom… an entry-level creative coordinator.
They put their head down and worked their way up, determined to prove that every step of their career had been earned, not handed to them. Ten years of hustle and late nights eventually led them to Senior Creative Director at The Sharpe Agency New York.
But the city had started to feel suffocating, the weight of old memories pressing in from all sides. Moving back to LA wasn’t a promotion… but it was a chance to hit reset, to carve out a new chapter on their own terms.
Now, with the hum of the morning quiet around them, they couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. New York had been a place of growth, both professionally and personally. But LA? LA was home. And it was time to make it feel that way again.
They smiled faintly, pushing the memories aside, and opened their laptop.
Apartments.com loaded slowly like it was taunting them.
Maybe it was time to widen the search radius or relax one of their must-haves.
Still, they weren’t quite ready to settle.
They had come too far and worked too hard to give up on getting what they wanted.