Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

F/F

Fandom:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Original Character/Original Character

Character:

Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Slow Burn, 2010-2016 in canon, outsider pov, Sports Journalism, prequel fic, Ilya's Emotional Support Beat Reporter, complicated relationship with parents, hockey lesbian

Language:

English

Series:

Part 6 of The Cens Beat Reporter

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-23 Updated: 2026-02-09 Words: 11,609 Chapters: 3/?

Origins of a Beat Reporter

Summary

Casey Williams would one day come out, get married to her beautiful wife, and be the Ottawa Centaur's resident beat reporter. She'll one day write articles about the Hollander-Rozanovs winning a Cup together on the Cens.

Before that, though, she was a punk ass kid, a recent college grad in Boston. Green on the scene and with something to prove, she'll form a surprisingly positive working relationship with Ilya Rozanov that will last her the next decade.

This is the origin of a beat reporter.

Notes

Good news, Casey returns in long form! I have been so entirely overwhelmed by the love people have shown my OC Casey from the Beat Reporter Tweets series, and because of that love, it inspired me to think about what her origin story might have been! A prequel fic!! This fic will follow 2010-2016 in the GCU. Ilya will obviously be in it, as she’s a reporter in Boston, and I’ll try to weave in as much as the GCU as makes sense, but this is very much an original character story set in the GCU. Take it or leave it, if it interests you!

I had decided the timeline of this fic on accident, throwing out random numbers without thinking too hard about it in previous fics in this series. I’d said that Casey covered the Bears for about six years out of college and that in 2021, she’d been with her wife for about seven years. I decided to stick with the numbers I’d randomly thrown out and challenged myself to make it work.

I have actually never been to Boston, so i tried to not embarrass myself too much in writing something set in the city. I did do a ton of research about women’s hockey in the 2010s in Boston, which is how i learned Marie-Philip Poulin went to college in Boston?? I only got into women’s hockey these last few years, as I’m from the south myself and the only hockey team i was aware of for many years were the Nashville Predators. (Fun LR trivia fact: my mom used to work for the preds and i was at their very first game as a baby.)

Also, obviously I know nothing about work visas and what it would take for a Canadian to be living in the US. That’s none of my business. I’ll read wiki articles about women’s hockey teams in 2010 but I’m simply not going to research US immigration and work visa laws. God bless.

Chapter 1: Spring 2010

On the ice, everything else fell away. 

There were no student loans, there were no job interviews, there were no missed calls from her dad. 

It was just Casey, her skates, and the puck. 

The quiet of the rink was the most at peace she’d ever felt. She didn’t need to think, she didn’t need to stress, she could just focus on putting one skate in front of the other, running drills, and let her body take over her mind. 

The tangled knot of anxiety in her chest loosened. Her muscles ached in a way that felt good, or at least, would feel good later. She could finally fucking breathe—

“HEY!”

Casey nearly tripped over her skates whirling around. The quiet serene was shattered, and her pulse spiked as she turned to see—

Angry red hair and sparkles coming her way. 

Wowza.

She looked about the same age as Casey, early twenties, and just a little bit taller on her pristine white figure skater skates. She had long legs that were being shown off by her little figure skater outfit, a short skirt and a sparkling bodice. Her pretty red hair was pulled back in a tight high pony that swung behind her as she skated towards Casey. And her expression was murderous, scrunched up and angry and looking for a fight.

Casey might have just fallen in love.

That is, until the girl came forward and shoved Casey with all her might.

“What the fuck!” Casey cried, sliding back in her skates.

“What the fuck to you!” the girl shot back. “You fucking hockey bros are always taking up the goddamned ice!” She shoved a finger in Casey’s chest. “I reserved this rink, asshole!”

“Okay, just–”

“I swear to god, if you tell me to calm down, I will take that hockey stick and shove it so far up your ass it comes out of your throat!” Her threat was as strong as her southern accent.

“I am so fucking sick of dealing with hockey dude bros like you who think they own every goddamned rink in Boston,” the girl said, steam practically coming out of her ears. She had freckles. Freckles that were scrunched up in anger. It was adorable. “You assholes never think of anyone but yourselves and I’m not fucking putting up with it anymore—”

Casey reached up and tore off her own helmet.

“Oh,” the girl froze, her finger still jabbed towards Casey. 

Casey knew that when she was wearing all her hockey gear and her helmet with the cage, gender was a questionable thing. Her hair was short and choppy enough to not show under the helmet, so she didn’t have the tell-tale sign of a long pony tail like other girls did. She never wore make up, and she was told that she had a bit of a boyish charm to her. This was all to her personal liking, but she could see where little miss figure skater had gotten the wrong idea.

“Not a dude bro,” the other girl said. 

“Not a dude bro,” she agreed. “My name’s Casey. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I thought I had reserved the Dunnerfield ice?”

The girl blinked at her. “Oh, this is the Dunnfell ice. Dunnerfield is the one across the way,” she gestured over her shoulder. “People get that confused a lot. It’s a weird iceplex”

“See how easy it was to work that out instead of yelling at each other?” Casey said, and then the pissed off look was back on the other girl’s face. Casey grinned. “If you give me a minute, I’ll collect my shit and get out of the way.”

Sparkly arms crossed with a huff. “Sorry for yelling at you.”

“It’s okay,” Casey shrugged. “I’m sure there’s a hockey dude bro out there that deserved it.”

The girl didn’t say anything, just watched as Casey quickly collected the few pylons she’d set out for her skating drill and the pucks she’d left by one end of the ice.

“Really, I feel bad,” the girl said. Her arms were crossed and her shoulders were hunched in on herself, looking awkwardly closed off. It was a total 180 from the fiery sparkles that had come roaring onto the ice, and Casey didn’t like it. Even if she hadn’t enjoyed being shoved, she’d enjoyed seeing the spark in the other girl.

Maybe Casey’s life could use a little spark right now.

“Don’t worry about it, princess,” Casey shrugged, her grin cheeky. It had the desired effect, because the red head’s face scrunched up. She looked better when she was pissed off than when she looked like someone had scolded her. “Enjoy your ice time.” Casey shot over her shoulder, and didn’t wait for a response. 

When she made her way to the other rink in this facility, she found her skating coach waiting for her. 

“There you are,” her coach said. “I’ve been waiting for like twenty minutes.”

“Sorry, Coach,” Casey tugged her helmet on. “Got a little turned around in this rink.”

Casey clenched her jaw so tightly, she should probably worry about something cracking.

At the other end of the line, her dad sighed. “Casey, I’m not trying to pick a fight with you.”

He never was. “I know,” she said, and kicked at a rock in the parking lot. 

“I’m just saying, kiddo. If you want to stay in Boston after graduation, you really need to think about what you’re doing next. You can’t play hockey forever. You’ve got to get a real job.”

“I know, Dad.” She hated how petulant she sounded.

“I mean, I would say that you could come back home and play for the CWHL, but I hear they’re folding those Senator girls.” 

She huffed. She was decidedly not going to pick a fight with him about the careless way he referred to a women’s hockey team, even if it was folding. “I don’t want to go back to Ottawa, Dad.”

“I’m just saying,” he sounded annoyed. Good. “You could come back to Canada and play hockey if you really wanted to, but there’s not a lot of women’s hockey after college.”

“I know that.”

“And I love you, kiddo, but you’re not good enough to make the Olympic roster or anything.”

“Jesus, I know, Dad.”

He huffed back at her. “Now, don’t snap at me just because you don’t like what I have to say. I’m trying to help you.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help,” Casey snapped at him. “I’ve been doing just fine on my own in Boston and I’ll be just fine after I graduate.” Her dad was quiet at the other end of the line, which just pissed her off more. “And you know, I played good enough fucking hockey that we did pretty damn good in the championships this year.”

“Don’t you curse at me, Casey.”

She clamped her jaw shut. Her eyes were burning from unshed tears, but she refused to even so much as fucking sniffle on the phone with him. The last thing she needed was another lecture about composing herself. 

“Sorry,” she bit out, and didn’t really mean it. 

Her dad sighed, and she could picture him standing in the kitchen back home, leaning against the sink and running a hand over his face.

“I mean it, Casey. I’m not trying to pick a fight with you. I’m just trying to help you figure out what might come next. Graduation is soon.”

She hugged the arm that wasn’t holding up her phone around herself and shivered. It was too fucking cold, even for April. Her flannel wasn't warm enough. “I have a couple of job interviews lined up.”

“Okay, see? That’s good,” her dad said, and she wanted to snap at him again for his tone. “What are they for? A newspaper in Boston? You could put that degree of yours to good use.”

“I’ll tell you if I get it,” she looked over her shoulder, surveying the empty parking lot. Well, empty except for her car and someone else’s. Not a lot of people at the rink that day.

Her dad sighed. “I just don’t get why you want to turn every conversation into an argument.”

Gee, I fucking wonder why? didn't seem to be a good response, so she swallowed her pride. “I’m just stressed about finals upcoming,” she said. 

“Okay, sure,” her dad said. “I’m looking forward to coming down for your graduation ceremony. Your brother and I are gonna make a whole road trip out of it.”

Casey worked her jaw. She blinked rapidly. “But not Mom?”

Her dad hesitated.

Fuck, she was not going to cry.

“Your mother feels like it might be better for everyone if she were to stay at home for this.”

Casey nodded. “Right.”

“You know she’s proud of you,” her dad said, far too fucking gently for how much this was upsetting her. “Just, you know… the two of you never really get along and she’s still…” he sighed. “Processing your lifestyle choices.”

“Being gay isn’t a lifestyle choice,” Casey was just about at her fucking limit. “It’s who I am.”

“I know that, and you know I support you. Your mother is just still–”

“You know, Dad, I’m gonna be late for my skating lesson,” Casey cut him off. She was barely holding it together. “I gotta go.”

“Okay.” He sounded a lot like he knew she was lying out her ass. He could always see right through her. “I love you, kiddo.”

“I love you, too, Dad.” And she meant it. 

The moment she hung up the phone, she burst into tears. She pressed her palms to her eyes and sobbed to a degree that was fucking embarrassing. At least she’d held it in while talking to her dad. He’d never known how to handle her crying.

Thinking about that just made her cry more, and then she was leaning against her car bawling her eyes out like a fucking idiot. She was better than this. She was supposed to be past this. She told herself four years ago that she wasn’t going to let herself get worked up because of her parents anymore, and so far that had been a dirty fucking lie. She was a hair pin trigger around her parents, just waiting for them to say the wrong thing. She could admit when she was looking for an excuse to explode at them.

What made it worse was that her dad really was trying, at least more than he’d been trying all those years ago. And certainly trying more than her mother ever was. But no matter how hard he tried, it didn’t feel like enough to cover the past hurts and the current missteps.

Casey was just so fucking tired of dealing with it, and tired of picking fights with them. She’d just spent so long with her guard up, she didn’t know how to handle it when he was asking to be let in. How long could she hold on to these hurts? How long would it weigh her down?

“You doing alright, there?” a southern accent popped up beside Casey.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Casey just about leapt out of her skin. “What the fuc–”

It was that girl again. The redhead that had yelled at her last month. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Casey snapped, frantically wiping away her tears. 

The girl raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her. “Same as you, I’d guess. Getting in some time at the rink. Though I was just about to head on home.” Those green eyes peered at her. Casey shifted uncomfortably. “Seriously, you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Casey turned away, throwing open her trunk to grab her gear bag out of the back. “Thanks. Goodbye.” 

Casey slammed her trunk shut, and started towards the rink without looking back. 

The next time Casey saw Miss Sparkles, she was at a house party. Not just any house party, the lesbian house party of the year. Half of the twenty-somethings in the city were invited and Casey always ran into at least three girls she’d previously made out with. It was always a riot and a bit of a safety hazard and the best night of the year. 

It was the one night that Casey let loose a little. She knew, for a fact, that none of her teammates would be there. For all the stereotypes about hockey girls, her team was ridiculously straight. So Casey didn’t have to worry about anything and it was the one fucking night that she swallowed her anxieties of going out to a queer space in public. 

So when Casey turned the corner and spotted the redhead, she yelped and leapt backwards.

And landed straight in the arms of her best friend.

“What the fuck, Willy?” Ella’s drink sloshed in the red solo cup. 

“Sorry! Sorry,” Casey scrambled to her feet, and pressed up against the wall. “There’s a girl from the rink here.”

Ella raised an eyebrow. “Like the college rink?”

“No, one on the outskirts of town,” Casey said, and looked up towards the ceiling. “I don’t want her to see me.”

“Why?” Ella took a sip of her drink. “Cause we’re here? If she’s not on the team and doesn’t work for them, you should be fine.”

Casey glared at her. Ella’s neon pink stripes in her hair were catching on the funky lights that were coloring the space in magentas and blues. It somehow made this moment more annoying. “It’s a small fucking world,” Casey hissed. “Who knows who she knows? She could tell anyone–”

“There’s like a billion hockey players in this city, she probably doesn’t even remember you,” Ella countered.

Casey bit her lip. “She’s a figure skater, not a hockey player.”

Ella’s face scrunched up. “Okay, even more of a reason for you to not freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out—”

“You totally are,” Ella cut her off. “And she’s at the lesbian party, too.”

Okay, that was… true. 

“Who the fuck even is she?” Ella peeked her head around the corner. “What does she look like?”

Casey ran a hand over her face. This was so not how she wanted tonight to go. She’d been hoping to get drunk and get laid. “Tall, red hair, freckles.”

Ella was quiet for a moment as she scanned the room. “Oh, wait, I do know her.”

“See!” Casey shoved her shoulder. “I fucking told you.”

“She was in one of my classes last year,” Ella turned back to Casey and leaned against the wall. “Her name’s Olivia Singer. She’s from Georgia. Or maybe Alabama or something.”

Casey took a hearty swing of her own drink. “She did have a southern accent.”

“Okay, so she’s not a Bostonian. She probably doesn’t know anybody,” Ella shrugged. “Willy, I really think you’re gonna be okay here.”

That didn’t stop Casey’s voice from cracking. “But what if—“

Ella held up her hand. “Okay, hang on.”

She grabbed Casey’s hand and tugged her through the crowd. They went through the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the back door to the patio. Casey didn’t realize how much of a hard time she’d been having breathing until she was sucking in the cool night air. Ella led her to a dark corner of the patio, and pushed Casey into the plush chair there.

“Alright, babes, take in some deep fucking breaths,” Ella said, taking Casey’s drink out of her hand. Casey nodded, and put her head in her hands. “There you go,” Ella’s voice was softer. “We’re okay. It’s okay.”

Casey’s first instinct was to snap at her best friend. She wasn’t a goddamned horse, she wasn’t going to spook and run off. She didn’t need to be babied. However, her hands were shaking and her chest was tight and her thoughts were spiraling out of control. 

What if this girl, Olivia, mentioned that she’d seen Casey at the lesbian night house party casually? What if she mentioned it in front of someone at BU who knew other hockey players? What if it got back to the team? What if everything she’d worked so fucking hard to build and protect all came crumbling down—

Something ice cold touched her neck.

“What the fuck?!” Casey flinched away from where Ella was holding out a piece of ice from her drink. “Ella, that's so gross!”

“I don’t know! You’re like, having a panic attack!” Ella tried getting the ice cube closer, and Casey swatted her away. “I’m trying to help!”

“Stop helping!” Casey snapped. 

“I’m gonna dump my drink on you,” Ella held out her drink.

“Fuck off, Ella.”

Ella huffed, and then grinned. “Hey, you’re not freaking out anymore.”

Casey glared. “Fuck you.”

Ella rolled her eyes, and plopped herself in Casey’s lap, draping her arms over Casey’s shoulders. Casey let her hands go to Ella’s waist, letting herself feel grounded in the weight on her lap and Ella’s smoky perfume. Tucked her head in her best friend’s neck, and just let herself breathe. 

She was okay. The redhead probably hadn’t seen her. She was just keyed up because her dad and brother were coming to town for graduation next week. Casey was fine. It was fine. It wasn’t going to be like high school, again. She was fine. She was going to graduate and get out Scot-free. She was okay.

She let out a shuddering breath, and Ella squeezed her tighter. 

“You suck at comforting,” Casey mumbled. 

Ella snorted. “Never tried to pretend otherwise, Willy.”

She’d met Ella their sophomore year at a house party very similar to this one. They’d hooked up that night, and the sex had been great. But they quickly figured out that while their sexual chemistry was electric, there was nothing romantic between them. Casey was too sharp and guarded; Ella wasn’t empathetic or grounded enough for Casey; Casey wasn’t wild and free enough for Ella, Ella was too sharp in the other direction. 

They’d stayed best friends, and occasional fuck buddies, but they’d kill each other if they tried to be anything more. 

“There you go,” Ella murmured, running her hands through Casey’s short hair. “There’s my Willy.”

Casey huffed. “I cannot believe you adopted my hockey nickname.”

“And miss out on the jokes? Come on.”

Casey hummed, and pressed a kiss to Ella’s throat. Ella's breath hitched, and she rolled her hips in Casey’s lap as Casey began kissing and nipping her neck. 

“Yeah?” Casey pulled back to look Ella in the eyes. She squeezed her ass. “You down?”

Ella rolled her eyes, but she smiled. “We have to stop fucking at these parties.”

Casey shrugged. “One more, for old time’s sake?” 

Ella grinned, and reached for Casey’s belt.

“Here,” her brother shoved a poorly wrapped package at her. 

“Gee, thanks, Coop,” she glared at him.

“Whatever,” he said, “Go on, open it.”

“I thought we were doing presents later,” she grumbled, and shook the box.

“You’re gonna break it,” Cooper smacked her arm. “I spent money on that.”

“You’re such a shit,” Casey snapped at him, and started tearing off the paper. Clearly, her shithead brother had just stolen Dad’s newspaper to wrap this. Casey frowned as she looked at the box. She looked up at her brother, who was watching her carefully. “Why did you get me a Tampa Bay bobble head?”

He groaned. “You’re supposed to be fucking smart.”

She’d never been a fan of Tampa in her life. She kind of actively hated them. She was from Ottawa for Christ’s sake. But she held in her hands a vintage bobblehead for a Tampa Bay goalie, number 47. She had no idea who the guy was. 

“Cooper, why did you get me this?” She raised an eyebrow.

“You know,” he said. She wondered if she’d been this annoying at seventeen. “Cause of that lady.”

Her brow crinkled. “Gonna need more.”

He kicked a piece of trash on her floor. “The first woman to like, you know, play in the NHL,” he looked at the ceiling. “In the 90s or whatever, she was a goalie for Tampa.”

Casey’s eyes were suddenly burning. “You got me a Tampa goalie bobble head because of Manon Rhéaume?”

Coop looked at his watch. “Yeah.”

She squished her little brother in a hug. 

“What the fuck, Casey—“

“Shut up and let me love you,” she said, squeezing him tighter. It was so annoying that he was taller than her. He sighed, but then hugged her back.

“Don’t cry about it,” he mumbled.

“I’m not, shut up,” Casey was definitely trying not to cry. She pushed her brother away and he put her in a headlock, only letting her go when she kicked him in the nuts. 

When they eventually settled down, he elbowed her. Not an aggressive, shit stirring kind of way. But a softer way. “It’s fucked up,” he said, chewing his lip. “That Mom didn’t come.”

Oh. Casey did not want to talk about this.

She shrugged, and looked down at the bobble head. She flicked it and watched it rattle.

“I mean it, Case,” Cooper said. “She should be here.”

“I know, Coop,” she said softly. 

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, either,” he continued. “It’s shitty.”

“Yeah,” Casey sighed. “You’re right. But there’s not a lot we can do about that.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Samantha’s not here,” Casey said. “Don’t see me crying about it.”

Cooper rolled his eyes. “She’s in Europe, who cares?”

Their older sister was a decade older than Casey and already living in Germany with a whole ass husband. She wasn’t going to fly back to Casey’s graduation. Casey didn’t even remember the last time she talked to her older sister. It’d probably been more than six months.

“Still, I just wanted you to know that I thought it sucked,” Cooper shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“You’re a good kid,” Casey shoved his head. “My ally baby brother.”

“Go dye your hair,” he shoved her back.

All in all, graduation weekend wasn’t that bad. It was nice to have Cooper around, and Dad was being totally cheesy. He wanted a picture of every moment, and for a weekend, Casey just let herself soak up her father’s affection. He was being sweet, and it was nice. They managed to avoid an argument all weekend (read: Casey didn’t pick a fight all weekend) and she even enjoyed spending time with him. She hated to admit it, but it was actually for the best that her mom hadn’t made the trip. Casey got to dick around with her brother and dad without having to worry about bitching from her mom. Dad even laid off asking questions about her job hunt, which she appreciated. 

Her dad wasn’t really good at “emotional” “conversations” but at one point he did walk up to her, catch her eye, squeeze her shoulder, and say: “Yeah?”

To which she’d said back. “Yeah.”

And that was that. 

The older woman in front of her shuffled through some papers. She lifted up one page that Casey was pretty sure was her resume. “You just got a bachelor’s in communications, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Casey fought the urge to shift nervously in her seat. The blazer she wore was too warm for the summer weather. “My focus was in sports journalism.”

“Tell me more about that,” she said, leaning back in her seat.

Casey had practiced this in the mirror a million times. “I couldn’t always watch the Ottawa Centaurs games growing up because I was playing in my own games. I kept up with my hometown hockey team by reading the papers every morning. It was my favorite part of breakfast, getting the paper from my dad and flipping back to the sports section of the Ottawa Citizen.” The corner of Casey’s mouth tugged up. Thinking about it still made her feel warm and fuzzy. “Reading the wrap up and analysis was almost more interesting than watching the games themselves. When thinking about what I wanted for my future, I wanted to keep chasing the feeling of being a little kid reading the morning papers.”

This was objectively true. She just wasn’t also saying that she went into sports journalism because she couldn’t make a career playing hockey, so she wanted to write about it. A back up plan was still a plan.

The woman, Mrs. Alban, nodded and wrote something down in her notebook. 

“I have a lot of qualified applicants for this position,” She said. “And you’re the greenest out of all of them, fresh out of college.” Mrs. Alban put down her pen, and raised an eyebrow. Her dark, intense eyes bore into Casey. “So, Casey Williams. Tell me why you’re the one for the job.”

Casey took a moment, just a heartbeat to formulate her thoughts, and then straightened her spine. “I spent most of my life being the only girl on the boys hockey teams in Ottawa. I’m used to pushing to the front of the crowd to make my voice heard.” She lifted her chin. “I wouldn’t be afraid to do the same in an NHL locker room.”

Mrs. Alban had a twinkle in her eyes. “You would be expected to travel for road games. We would pay for it.”

Casey nodded. “I’m prepared for that.”

“It’s a lot of late nights and weekends.”

“Story of my life.”

“You might be the only woman in the locker room, some nights.”

Casey held her gaze. “Fine by me.”

Mrs. Alban leaned back in her chair. “Boston Beats isn’t as prestigious as the big newspapers, and we’re woman owned, so you might have to work a little harder than the other reporters to get exclusives with players.”

“I’m not easily scared off,” Casey said. 

A flicker of a grin flashed on Mrs. Alban’s face. “You’ve got a spark in you, kid.”

Casey leaned forward. “So put me to work.”

Mrs. Alban held out her hand, and Casey shook it.

Chapter 2: Fall 2010

Chapter Notes

I have been so utterly delighted that you all have been so kind to my OCs. Thank you for all the love!!

There were three things that Casey learned about Ilya Rozanov pretty quickly.

One, his English was not as bad as everyone made it out to be.

Two, he was fucking hilarious.

Three, he was damn good at hockey.

He had tried to flirt with her exactly once. She’d managed to snag the rookie for a sit-down after training camp one day. He’d leaned across the table and winked at her while saying something about getting a drink later.

She’d stared at him blankly until he leaned back in his chair and apologized sheepishly.

They’d gotten along great since then. 

Mrs. Alban had been right, Casey was always the youngest person in the room and often the only woman. She was twenty-two and most definitely did not look like she belonged in the middle of the Boston Bears’ locker room. She had to clench her jaw and stand her ground far more often than she would have liked in the brash, smelly room, but so far it hadn’t been too terrible. She kind of loathed to admit it, but it sort of helped her street cred that Rozanov had taken a liking to her. 

The Russian phenom was only a rookie in the room, but he respected Casey, and that set a tone for the rest of the team. She did not believe, in any circumstances, that she had to hand it to a professional men’s hockey player for anything. But so far Rozanov hadn’t given her a reason to hate him, and gotten some of the other guys to respect her, so she’d take the wins where she could get them.

Especially because Boston wasn’t winning a whole lot of their own games.

People tend to forget that the reason a team gets a first overall pick is because they’re fucking dogshit. The Bears had ended the previous season dead last in the standings, and that didn’t change overnight just because of their shiny new rookie. They were still losing more than they were winning. Their power play still sucked. Their coaching staff were still a bunch of assholes.

But Ilya Rozanov had gotten the entire city to fall in love with him instantly, so the vibes weren’t as bad as they could have been. It even made his snarky comments about scoring fifty goals in his rookie campaign and trash talking the other rookie phenom in Montreal bearable. Couldn't hate a guy that talked a big game if he actually backed it up. 

Later, in several years, she’d think it was funny that she couldn’t remember the first time she met him. It was so unimportant. It was a locker room, he was a hockey player, she was the new reporter on the beat. She didn’t have a first impression of him other than “tall” and “curls” and she’d imagine that he’d probably think similarly that it had been deeply unimportant. It had been such an average day to meet the boy who would become her favorite player and change her life. But she didn’t know that, yet. 

She watched him skate, now. He always stayed after practice to work on his shot, which was already pretty damn good. He shot from the top of the left faceoff circle so consistently that announcers were starting to call it his office. Even if everyone knew that Ilya Rozanov always shot from the exact same spot on the ice, it seemed impossible to stop him.

She scribbled some notes down in her journal to write a report on his shot percentage from different spots on the ice later. 

“It kind of sucks that Boston finally got a women’s hockey team right as you hung up your skates,” Ella said, throwing popcorn into her mouth.

“Yeah, it does,” Casey grumbled. “You know what sucks even more?”

“What?” Ella asked through a mouth full of popcorn.

“I’m probably getting paid more than them.”

Ella’s brow furrowed. “You’re joking.”

Casey shook her head. “The CWHL doesn’t really pay a living wage. Most of these players have two or three jobs to make end meet.”

In front of them, the newly formed Boston Blades were warming up before the game. Casey hadn’t gotten approval from her editor to start covering the Blades, since she spent so much time with the Bears, but she might be able to do a one-off report about her experience going to a game. She should have brought her notebook.

“Do you think you’d be able to try out for the team next year?” Ella asked.

“No,” Casey sighed. “Not with my current job. The tricky thing about having to cover a hockey team is that it doesn’t give me a lot of free time to play hockey myself. Lot of nights and weekends already.”

Ella hummed. “Makes sense. I will never understand sports, personally.”

Casey elbowed her. “Yeah, you nerd. I’m gonna shove your head in a locker.”

Ella elbowed back. “I’d like to see you try.”

“How’s grad school so far?” Casey stole a handful of popcorn. “I mean, I hear about it all the time from you, but I feel like I haven’t seen you in person in forever.”

Ella launched into a tirade about her professors being stuck up know-it-alls and she hasn’t made any new friends but she has already hooked up with a hot girl she met in the library, so really grad school is not that bad. It was nice to just hear her best friend gripe and moan about her life. 

So much had changed in the last few months, post graduation. Moving apartments, starting a new job, new routines, it had all been kind of overwhelming for Casey. She needed this, this moment where she could lean her head against her best friend’s shoulder and watch a hockey game together. 

Her chest kind of ached, watching the hockey instead of playing the hockey. Her lungs ached to be flying down the ice again, making a defensive play and hearing the crowd roar. 

The teams got way do the opening faceoff, and Casey’s fingers itched for a pen to scribble down the line combinations. 

The next time Casey saw her redheaded nemesis, it was Christmas time. 

Okay, nemesis was a little dramatic. She’d only seen the figure skater three times, only interacted twice. Casey had already forgotten her name, to be honest. She didn’t need to still be holding on to her disdain for the girl who had seen her crying in a parking lot six months ago. Somehow, it was worse that the figure skater had seen her crying like an idiot than the fact that she’d yelled at Casey the first time they’d met.

Regardless, Casey had kind of forgotten about the girl until they were physically colliding into each other. And to make matters worse, Casey’s coffee exploded between them.

“What the fuck!” The other girl screeched. And listen, it was a screech. Banshee level screech. Everyone around them stopped and looked at them.

Their eyes met at the exact moment, and if Casey hadn’t just dumped her coffee everywhere, she might have laughed. 

“You,” the girl snarled. "What is your problem?!"

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Casey couldn't help herself.

Casey had been expecting another quip, something snarky from the little sparkly princess. 

She didn’t expect the other girl to burst into tears.

“Oh, okay,” Casey winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– shit,”

“Fuck,” the redhead said. “I’m blubbering and I've got coffee everywhere.” And, oh god, her make up was running. Casey frantically looked around them.

They were in the same rink they’d ran into each other the first time, when the figure skater had yelled at Casey, but this time they weren’t alone. The place was bustling with hoards of young girls and their guardians for a skate camp. 

Casey had begged her editor to let her cover something lighthearted and fun after the Bears went on an eight game losing streak. Let me bring some joy to the readers, she’d begged. Let me write about something that doesn’t make everyone want to walk into the harbor. So she was here, at this rink, to do a write up on the Bears’ Women in Hockey initiative. This one day, young girls in Boston could learn to skate for free. It was a great initiative, and it brought Casey’s heart so much joy to see so many giggling girls with their pigtails flying down the ice. 

And now she was standing in the middle of the lobby, loud kids and their guardians running everywhere, with her coffee all over the redhead’s pretty knit sweater, with the other girl in tears. 

Casey quickly spotted the bathroom, and put a tentative arm around her nemesis’s shoulders. “Let’s get you to the bathroom,” she tugged, and half expected a fight.

But the redhead just mumbled an “Okay,” and followed, clunking across the floor in her pretty white skates. It stood out, amongst all the hockey skates running around, and Casey couldn’t figure out why the fuck she was there. She looked to be about Casey’s age, early twenties, so it wasn’t super likely that she had a daughter young enough to skate in this. Maybe a cousin? A sister?

Casey pushed her into the bathroom, and then frantically started tearing paper towels out from the dispenser. “I really am sorry,” she shoved them at the other girl. “I didn’t mean to dump my coffee on you.”

“No, I know,” she said, awkwardly taking the papertowels. “Sorry, I yelled at you. Again.”

The corner of Casey’s lips tugged upwards. “You’re making it quite the habit.”

That got her a glare. Her eyes were such a pretty shade of green. It kind of made Casey dizzy. “Well, stop giving me reasons to yell at you.” 

“At least we’re even now,” Casey shrugged.

The other girl looked up from where she was dabbing the stain with the paper towels. “What?” she looked genuinely confused.

Casey kind of wanted the floor to swallow her whole. “Cause… you know…” she waved a hand. “You saw me cry in a parking lot once… now I’ve seen you cry… we’re even.”

“Oh,” her red eyebrows scrunched together. “I’d forgotten about that.”

Great. That was great. It’s not like Casey’s been replaying it in detail every night while trying to fall asleep for months. Cool.

“I’m sorry,” the other girl pressed her hands to her face. “I don’t even remember your name.”

“Wow,” Casey said. “Guess I left a great impression.” No need to mention that she’d learned the redhead’s name at one point and had also forgotten it. They really were even.

The redhead snorted. “I was a little blind with rage that first time. Wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.”

“Casey,” she said, holding out her hand. “Casey Williams.”

The other girl bit her lip, and tentatively took her hand. “Olivia. Olivia Singer.”

Olivia, that was right. Casey remembered that it was something pretty.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia,” she shook her hand firmly and then stuffed her own hands in her pockets. “Maybe next time we meet, there won’t be any yelling or crying.”

Olivia laughed at that, just a little snort, but it made her nose crinkle, and Casey was immediately charmed by it. “Let’s hope.”

“Why are you here today?” Casey couldn’t help blurting out. She’ll call it journalistic curiosity.

Olivia blinked. “Oh. I’m a skating coach. Or, well. I want to be. But I am today.”

Casey raised an eyebrow, and gently tapped her foot against Olivia’s. Ratty vans against pristine skates. “You’re a figure skater. This is a hockey camp.”

“Yeah, well,” Olivia shrugged. “I applied. They hired me. I–” she cut herself off, her lips twisted. Her lipstick was a really pretty color. It complimented her hair color.

“What?” Casey leaned her hip against the counter. 

“I really need this job,” Olivia confessed, looking down at her hands. “I can’t compete forever. I'm good but I'm not that good. I graduate this winter, and I wanna be a coach. And I– I enjoy it. Probably more than I’ve ever enjoyed skating myself.” She shrugged, her eyes still downcast. “This opportunity is honestly mostly networking for me. I can put it on my resume, meet other coaches, meet little girls who want to skate.” She tugged on the edge of her sweater. “I can’t fuck this up.”

Casey’s gaze softened. “Hence the crying over spilled coffee.”

“Shut up,” Olivia glared at her, but it seemed more like a reflexive snap than anything with real heat. “I mean, yeah. You’re right. But still.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your sweater,” Casey said.

“Oh, it’ll be fine,” Olivia waved her off. “My mama told me a million different ways to get stains out. And besides, I wasn’t looking where I was going either.” She sniffled, and looked at herself in the mirror. “Oh, Lord,” she said, sounding so southern it was almost comical. “I look like a drenched raccoon.”

“I’ve seen my fair share of drenched raccoons in my day,” Casey crossed her arms. “You’re much prettier.”

Casey immediately felt a flash of hot embarrassment, an instant knife twist of regret. Fuck, she hadn’t meant to flirt. The whole point of avoiding Olivia at the lesbian party all those nights ago was that she didn’t want the other girl to know she was gay. Especially if Olivia was trying to break into similar circles in Boston.

But Olivia just laughed, and didn’t seem to take it too seriously. “Well, thank you, Casey,” she said, a small smile on her lips as she grabbed more paper towels and dabbed at her eyes. “Why are you here, anyway?” Olivia looked her over. Casey wondered what Olivia made of her ratty vans, her ripped jeans, her old rock band shirt and oversized flannel. 

Like really, it was kind of ridiculous that Casey spent so much energy worrying about being found out as a lesbian when she actively dressed like this. She might as well be wearing a neon sign that said GIRL KISSER floating above her head.

But, right, Olivia asked her a question.

“I’m a reporter,” Casey tugged on the strap of the messenger bag slung over her shoulder. “For the Boston Beats. I’m here to cover today’s event.”

“Oh, that’s kind of cool,” Olivia’s spine seemed to straighten. “So you’re gonna write an article about the event?”

“Yup,” Casey popped the ‘p’. She rocked back and forth on her heels. “I don’t, uh, I don’t play hockey anymore.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I just write about it.”

“Cool,” Olivia said again. And then she seemed to compose herself for a moment. “Goodness, you don’t need to be in here watching me put myself back together. You should be out there taking your little notes, or something.”

Casey raised an eyebrow. “Or something.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Olivia cleaned up her face. She looked good as new. 

It really was crazy how pretty she was. 

“I do, but I can take a couple of minutes,” Casey said. “I’ll be here all day, anyway.”

Olivia looked like she was trying very hard not to smile. “So I’ll see you around?”

Casey’s face was probably doing the same thing. She backed up towards the bathroom door, hands still in her pockets. “Yeah, I’ll see you around, Singer.”

Olivia laughed, surprised. “Go bother someone else, Williams.”

Casey saluted her, and then pushed out of the bathroom.

She had a stupid grin on her face for the rest of the day that she couldn’t wipe off, no matter how hard she tried.

“This is good,” her editor said. “I’m glad you nagged me into sending you.”

“Thanks, Elizabeth,” Casey huffed. “Glad to have your show of support.”

Elizabeth waved a passive hand at her while she stared at the computer. “I said it was good, didn’t I?”

Casey kicked her feet up on the desk. “You did.”

Elizabeth adjusted her glasses. “Are you friends with this Singer girl?”

“Uh, no,” Casey frowned. “I happened to run into her–” hah “--and we had a good conversation.”

“You gave her a nice shoutout in the article,” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. 

“I thought it was an interesting angle that the Bear’s Women in Hockey initiative not only helps young girls get into hockey, but helps adult women break into traditionally male spaces like coaching, too.”

Elizabeth hummed. “As long as you’re not using your position to help give a leg up to a buddy, or anything.”

“No,” Casey snorted. “And I asked her at the end of the day if it was okay to include her.”

“I figured.” 

“But hey, if it helps her, wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“I guess,” Elizabeth hit a few keys on her keyboard. “You know, you have a vibes based approach to commas.”

A few days later, Casey got an email. 

DATE: 12/28/2010

FROM: <oliviasinger@gmail.com>

SUBJECT: Article

Hi Casey,

Just wanted to say thanks again for including me in the article you wrote about the Women in Hockey Day. Kind of funny to feature a figure skater for a hockey day. Networking was a success for a day. Got a couple of parent’s emails to put their daughters into skating lessons. Feels like I stole a few kids from the hockey side of things to the evil world of figure skating. A few people reached out after they read your article, too. So thanks for contributing to the growth of figure skating! 

When we’re not yelling or throwing coffee at each other, seems like we get along well. Wanna be friends? I’ve been in Boston for four years and still don’t know enough people. I could buy coffee to replace the one that you threw last week. 

Cheers,

Olivia Singer

Casey bit her lip to keep herself from grinning. She cracked her knuckles.

DATE: 12/28/2010

FROM: <caseywilliams@bostonbeats.com>

SUBJECT: RE: Article

Olivia,

First of all, I didn’t throw my coffee at you, it exploded between us when you decided to try body checking as a figure skater. I hope your sweater still smells like my oatmilk latte. :) 

Secondly, I’m glad the article helped. While it pains me to know that’s a loss on the side of women in hockey, I’m glad that these kids at least get the option to choose one or the other. Even if they make the (incorrect) choice to pursue figure skating, at least they don’t have to fight tooth and nail for the option like I did. And I’m happy that you’ve got some coaching work lined up.

I’d love to be friends, and I’ll happily take the coffee. 

Don’t expect me to replace your sweater, though. I do not get paid enough for that. 

Casey

DATE: 12/29/2010

FROM: <oliviasinger@gmail.com>

SUBJECT: RE: RE: Article

Oh, INCORRECT choice? You and I will be having WORDS, missy.

I look forward to debating you over this. 

And I told you, stains aren’t a problem when you’re the daughter of a southern woman. The sweater is fine. I’ll even wear it next time I see you to give you a shot at redemption. 

Are you free New Year’s Day? I have the day off and plenty of time. 

Olivia

DATE: 12/29/2010

FROM: <caseywilliams@bostonbeats.com>

SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Article

Name a time and location, and I’ll be there, princess.

Casey

DATE: 12/29/2010

FROM: <oliviasinger@gmail.com>

SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: RE: Article

You are so annoying. 

1pm, Old Ebbit’s Coffee Shop?

DATE: 12/29/2010

FROM: <caseywilliams@bostonbeats.com>

SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Article

I’ll see you then. :)

Chapter End Notes

And so it begins!

More Ilya is coming, I promise!

Chapter 3: Spring 2011

Chapter Notes

In case you haven't seen the news, my own favorite beat reporter that was one of my main inspirations for Casey, Bailey Johnson, was one of the layoffs in the major gutting of the Washington Post this past week. I'm devastated by the destruction of WaPo. I know a lot of good people who lost their jobs in this, and I hate losing the Books and Sports section in particular, which have been so important to the city of DC. I wish all the best to Bailey in her next endeavors, wherever she winds up! Remember to support your local journalists and newspapers! Democracy dies in darkness for real.

Anyway, back to my silly little fic, I swear that when I was coming up with my gay southern figure skater girl, I was not thinking about Eric Bittle, even though I LOVE Check Please. I just always stumble into writing southern characters as a born and raised Tennessean, and I love the sapphic hockey player/figure skater dynamic. To make them different I will say now that it is canon that Olivia cannot bake.

I love putting my some of my own issues on fictional characters. <3 TWs in end notes

Olivia and Casey got on like a house on fire. From that very first coffee together, they were in lockstep, throwing chirps back and forth like it was a puck going tape to tape. Casey sat down at the table in the coffee shop and Olivia immediately asked if she’d stolen the flannel she was wearing off a forty year old man with a beard. Casey had guffawed, and asked Olivia if she’d stolen her cardigan off a Kappa Kappa Delta sorority girl.

Olivia had just grinned at her. 

Casey, maybe, stupidly, had a huge fucking crush on her. 

It was stupid. It was so stupid. 

Because she was firmly in the Friend Zone.

Olivia didn’t seem to flirt with her, really flirt with her in a way that wasn't just chirping. And in fact, one of the first things Olivia mentioned in that first coffee was that she’d just gotten out of a two year long relationship that ended poorly, and she was swearing off dating for a year. Casey had just blinked, laughed, and said: “Totally.”

Like an idiot. 

But, honestly, it was nice to make a new friend. She’d always kept her hockey team at a distance, for a fear of them finding out her big lesbian secret. She really only had Ella these days, who was busy with grad school, plus a few odd acquaintances in the city that she sometimes liked their Facebook posts. 

Casey, annoyingly, felt a little lonely.

Which, like, whatever. She was a big girl. She’d made her choice to stay in Boston post-graduation. She was fine. It was fine. 

And in all of that, Olivia felt like a breath of fresh air. 

Olivia, who texted her almost as much as Ella did. Olivia, who Casey got lunch with every weekend. Olivia, who seemingly started keeping up with the Bears so she’d have something to text Casey about, despite the fact that she claimed hockey was evil.

“It’s barbaric, Williams,” Olivia chirped, skating backwards. 

Casey grinned, and switched to skating backwards alongside her. She’d played defense. Backwards skating was like, her specialty. 

“You’re just too prissy for it,” Casey shot back. 

A couple of kids went by them, the rink filled with normies on a Sunday afternoon. 

“There’s too much violence,” Olivia said, smoothly turning around the end of the rink with only a half glance over her shoulder. “Those men punch each other too much.”

“Come on,” Casey stuck her hands in her pockets. “You’ve never wanted to punch a competitor?”

Olivia glared at her. “I would never,” she said, in her dumb little Georgia accent.

Casey nodded, and raised her eyebrows. “You’ve totally wanted to punch someone before.”

“I want to punch you right now.”

“Hit me with your best shot, Singer.”

Olivia just rolled her eyes and skated away. 

So, yes. Olivia Singer seemed to slide into her life at the exact moment that Casey needed her. A manifestation of the perfect person who wouldn’t take Casey’s shit, and gave as good as she got. She was… present in Casey’s life, as weeks turned into months. Present like only her brother and Ella had been previously. Casey didn’t have a lot of people in her corner. But Olivia seemed to have set up camp there, and Casey wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that. 

Even if Olivia was basically the prettiest girl she’d ever met, and funny as hell, and a little salty alongside her sweetness. There were moments where she laughed and her freckles scrunched up and Casey felt a little bit like she were going to pass out. 

But they were friends. That was nice. Friends were good. 

“You know, you don’t have to waste your Friday night with me,” Casey sniffled.

“I ain’t got anywhere better to be,” Olivia huffed, and tossed a bottle of Gatorade at her. Casey did not catch it properly, and winced when it hit her forearm.

“I’m gonna get you sick,” Casey whined. 

Olivia shrugged. “My constitution’s strong, I’ll be fine.”

When Casey had called Olivia earlier and moaned about being sick, so therefore having to cancel their plans to go see a movie, Olivia had shown up at her door an hour later with hot soup and DVDs. Casey had stood in the doorway wearing her dad’s old Ottawa Centaurs hoodie and little pajama shorts with hockey sticks on them and wondered if she was hallucinating. But Olivia had just shouldered her way into the apartment and asked if Casey wanted a ginger ale.

Which like, obviously. 

So now they were on Casey’s couch, two bowls of hot soup on the coffee table, and a collection of DVDs before them. 

“I’m sure you’ve got other friends to spend the night with,” Casey didn’t know why she was protesting so much. Maybe she just wanted to needle her way into having Olivia admit that she liked Casey. 

Oliva bit her lip, and stirred her soup, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Not really,” Olivia finally said, still looking down at her soup. 

That didn’t sound at all like the Olivia that Casey had come to know. Olivia, who waved hi to every baby in a stroller they saw, and held the door open for anyone on the sidewalk. Olivia, who was frankly too damn friendly for New England, knew the names of every single person who worked at their regular rink. Olivia, who was just about the kindest person Casey had ever met. It was a shock to think that she didn’t have other friends.

“That can’t be true,” Casey said, reaching for a tissue to blow her nose.

Olivia was staring intently at her soup, poking her spoon at the chunks of chicken amongst the noodles. She sighed. “I told you I just went through a bad breakup?”

“Yeah,” Casey said.

“Well,” Olivia said, kind of clipped. “My ex took all our friends in the breakup.”

“Fuck,” Casey blinked. “That sucks.”

Olivia shrugged, half a shoulder going up. “They were all her friends to begin with, I was always the odd one out. But Tonya didn’t want to stay in Boston and she didn’t…” Olivia looked away, turning her face from Casey’s line of sight. “She didn’t want me. Told all our friends a bunch of mean shit about me. Only half of it was true. Made me look like the villain just cause that was easier than admitting she didn’t love me anymore.”

Casey set her gatorade down on the table. “Olivia–”

“And the worst part,” the redhead continued, “Is that I didn’t even realize how much she resented me until she was throwing it back in my face. I thought we were happy. I guess.” She shrugged again. “But then she was saying stuff about how I was holding her back and a burden and a whole buncha nasty stuff and…” Horribly, she sniffled. “She got all of our friends on her side so that everyone would turn on me.” Olivia looked back down at her soup, and wiped away at the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but it was real awful.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” Casey put a hand on her shoulder. 

Another shrug. “I guess. Maybe I was the bad guy in that scenario, and I didn’t know it.”

“Olivia, look at me.”

Another sniffle. Olivia exhaled, and turned back to Casey. Her eyes were watery, and Casey wanted to punch her ex and their whole stupid friend group.

“Look, I don’t know the whole situation,” Casey said. “But no one gets to make you feel small.”

Olivia’s chin wobbled. It was devastating.

“You’ve known me for two months, and you showed up to my hazardous den of illness with soup and Star Trek,” Casey gestured to the table. Chris Pine’s handsome mug stared them down on the cover of the DVD. “You didn’t have to. But you did.”

“That’s just basic friend stuff,” Olivia countered. “I’d do it for anyone.”

“I know,” Casey gave her a small smile. “And if that’s how you treat someone you barely know, I can’t imagine how kind you would be to someone you really care about.”

“Casey,” Olivia said, her voice cracking. 

“You, Olivia Singer,” Casey pointed a finger at her. “Are not a burden. And fuck anyone who thinks otherwise. Okay?”

Olivia bit her lip, and nodded. “Okay.” Olivia exhaled, and then looked at Casey. “It doesn’t bother you? That I’m…” she waved a hand.

Casey frowned. “That you’re what?”

Olivia looked to the ceiling, and said so softly Casey almost missed it: “A lesbian.”

“Olivia, look at me.”

When those green eyes looked at her, Casey pointed aggressively at the Indigo Girls poster behind her. “You can’t seriously think I’m straight.”

Olivia’s cheeks picked. “You’ve never mentioned it.” She shrugged. “We’ve never like, talked about it. You got kind of skittish every time I’d go snooping around for information.”

“Yeah, well,” Casey shrugged. “I’m not like, super out. Gotta vet people before I tell them.”

“And I passed?” The corner of Olivia’s mouth tugged up.

“With flying colors,” Casey kicked her ankle. “I had, um,” she swallowed. Olivia had been brave. So could Casey. “I had a bad experience in high school.”

Olivia’s brow furrowed. “What kind of bad experience?”

It was Casey’s turn to look away, looking at the band posters she had tacked up on her wall. The dying plant she had on her shelf. The haphazard stack of hockey gear piled in the corner. It was easier to look at those things instead of Olivia. 

“I was outed,” she confessed. “One of my teammates caught me with another girl after school, then told the whole team.”

It still made her chest feel like it was going to cave in on itself, even a decade later.

“It was kind of the worst day of my life,” Casey said, a humorless laugh bubbling out of her. “I got kicked off the team because other parents didn’t want me in the locker room. I had to transfer schools and everything.”

“Casey, I’m so sorry,” Olivia reached over and squeezed her knee. “That’s awful.”

“It was,” she admittedly quietly. “I lost all my friends. I lost everything. So, like,” she waved her hand. “I get it.”

They were quiet for a moment, both of them stupidly trying to not get more emotional than they had already gotten. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet, and Olivia gave Casey a soft smile.

“Now,” Casey wiped her snot with her sleeve. “We’re gonna watch Spock and Kirk have too much sexual tension, and then maybe I might force you to watch a hockey game.”

Olivia laughed, and it was so much better than the tiny, vulnerable look she’d had on her face a moment ago. “Do we have to watch hockey?”

“Of course we do,” Casey tossed the Star Trek DVD at her. “The Montreal Voyageurs are playing in Vancouver, so the game will be on at ten. I gotta tell you all about my hometown by Shane Hollander.”

“Ilya, how do you tune out the noise about the rivalry with Hollander before stepping on the ice?” Casey held out the microphone.

Rozanov hummed. He’d been fielding stupid questions about the rivalry all night. Any time they’d played Montreal this season, it had been a circus show. She was sure that both of them were probably tired of talking about it, and frankly, Casey was tired of asking about it. But she had an article to write before midnight, and it would be stupid to not ask about it.

“Is easy,” Rozanov shrugged. “Media is… separate from what happens on ice. We go out and play our game. Not worried about reporters, just hockey.”

His English had been improving in the last few months, but honestly it wasn’t as bad as people were making it out to be. The way people talked about Rozanov, or any of the non-English speaking rookies in the league, made it sound like they were cave men. Hockey good. Fire bad. Scary Russian. It kind of made Casey crazy, especially when the team refused to hire a Russian translator for Rozanov. She never tried to baby him, but she made sure that she spoke clearly when asking him questions. She’d seen him before, his eyes nervously darting around the room, when he couldn’t quite track what the question was. 

The Bears’ PR person signaled to wrap it up, and everyone shuffled their way out of the locker room. Casey scribbled notes in her little notebook as she made her way up the flights of stairs to the Bears press box, where she watched every game. All season long, she’d been the youngest person in the box. The older reporters with their graying hair sneered at her, made it difficult for her to get a good view of the ice, but Casey tried to tune them out. If Ilya Rozanov says he can tune out the crazy media storm around his rivalry with Shane Hollander, she can try to tune out David loudly talking about the women he slept with that weekend, despite the wedding ring on his finger. 

Casey sat down at her usual station and pulled out her printed list of stats and her notebook. And really, most importantly, pulled out her pre-game donut. Sugar was necessary for sports journalism, actually. She began comparing Rozanov’s stats to Hollander’s, and started making notes about a potential Calder Winner.

“I hear Boston is nice in the summer.”

Casey rolled her eyes. “Yeah? It is.”

A huff on the other end of the phone. “I’m just saying, I hear there’s a lot to do.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, Coop. There’s a lot to do in Boston over the summer. Why are you calling me?”

He huffed again.

Mentally, Casey tried to piece together in her head what language her little brother might be speaking. “Do you want to come visit me this summer? Is that what you’re asking?”

She could practically hear his shrug. “Only if you’re not like, busy.”

“Cooper,” her tone affectionate. “I’m never too busy for you.”

“Gross,” he said. “I just want to get out of Ottawa for a bit. Mom’s driving me crazy.”`

Casey frowned. “Has she been shitty to you?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I mean, no more shitty than she is about everything all the time, but nothing specific.”

“Cause if she’s said something to you, you can tell me.”

“I’m fine, Case.”

“I mean it,” She said. “Don’t hide it from me.”

“I’m not lying,” Cooper said. “She’s just annoying and I want to get away for a bit.”

Casey bit her lip. “Okay.”

“So I can come visit?”

“Yes, you idiot,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m making you go to all the boring museums.”

Cooper hummed. “Do I get to meet your girlfriend?”

She nearly dropped her coffee cup. “My what? I don’t have a girlfriend."

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Casey,” her brother said. “You can talk about it with me, I swear.”

“No, Coop, I’m being serious,” Casey set down the mug before she dropped it for real. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“But you’re always talking about that girl. Livie, or something.”

She wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. “Olivia is just my friend.”

“Whatever,” Cooper groaned. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Look at plane tickets,” she managed to get out before she heard him hang up on her.

The Boston Bears' season ended in April, missing the playoffs yet again, so Casey had a lot more spare time in the spring. More spare time meant more Olivia time, and Ella time, and Olivia and Ella meeting time. 

Casey’s hands were sweating as she stood outside the restaurant. Her two best friends were meeting for the first time. This was normal. They would naturally get along super well. A friend of Casey is a friend of Casey. That’s fine. Ella didn’t know about her stupid crush on Olivia. This was all fine. It was super fine. 

The moment Ella laid eyes on Olivia, she gave Casey a Look.

The Look that said “Oh, she’s pretty. Where the fuck have you been keeping her?”

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Olivia had wrapped Ella in a hug immediately, her southern charm positively swoon worthy. “It’s so nice to finally meet in person.”

“Same, great to meet in person,” Ella had said, and then grinned wickedly. “You’re even prettier than Casey said.”

Casey turned beet red and maybe wanted to die a little. She moved to kick Ella in the shins, but Olivia threw her head back and laughed. “And people say you northerners aren’t nice.” 

Ella gave Casey The Look.

It was kind of a relief that Ella and Olivia got along so well. Half an hour into dinner, and the two of them were laughing like old friends. If the evening had been awkward, Casey wouldn’t have known how to handle it. Ella had been her best friend for years, even with the weird ups and downs, ebbs and flows of their relationship. Ella was her go-to person in Boston, the person with the second set of keys to her apartment, her emergency contact. If she’d disapproved of Olivia, or if Olivia hadn’t been nice to her, Casey would have felt it like a sinking stone in her chest.

And Olivia…

Okay, yes, Casey had confusing feelings about Olivia. Her immediate attraction turned frustration turned friendship with underlying head spinning thoughts about the color of her eyes was a little much to wrap her head around. She wasn’t going to deny to herself that she thought Olivia was pretty, that she thought the redhead was funny and kind and sharp on her comebacks in a way that Casey liked. There was a… potential there that Casey felt immediately drawn to. 

This could be something. They fit together so well, they clicked like puzzle pieces. 

But Casey didn’t have the box to see what kind of puzzle they were making. She didn’t want to make the wrong move, and ruin everything. Olivia was hungry for connection and friendship, almost desperately so, after losing her entire friend group. There was a fragility to the way she moved throughout the world, eagerly seeking out new relationships and people to share her heart with, while carefully keeping her guard up, stepping around the broken glass that still lay at her feet.

She was lonely, and that was something Casey could relate to deeply. 

The fizzling potential of the sparkle in Olivia’s eyes seemed like too big of a risk to take, because what if Casey got it wrong? What if Olivia was just like this with all her close friends? What if Casey made a move and it all blew up in her face again? Anxiety kept her feet planted firmly in a box labeled friends, and she was comfortable to stay there for a while. She was Olivia’s friend, and Olivia was hers. 

Something could still be on the horizon, one day. But Casey would carefully protect what they had now, the fragility of a new bond. 

“I liked Ella,” Olivia said. The streetlights illuminated her red hair as they drove through Boston, Olivia giving Casey a ride home after dinner. “She’s funny.”

“I’m glad you guys got along,” Casey leaned her head back against the headrest. “Now I can drag you both to Blades games.”

Olivia laughed, and her nose crinkled. “Only you could drag me to a hockey game.” Casey snorted back, and they fell into a comfortable quiet.

“Do you think she liked me, too?” Olivia’s voice was soft, barely above the radio and the sounds of other cars on the road.

“I’m sure she did,” Casey assured her. “If she hadn’t, you would have known.”

Olivia nodded her head. “Okay. Good.”

Casey gave her a small smile. “Hey, are you sticking around town this summer?”

Olivia shrugged, both hands on the wheel. “Yeah, got nowhere else to go.”

“You won’t go visit your family this summer?”

Olivia was quiet for a moment as she turned left through a busy intersection. “Mama and I get along best when there’s some distance between us.”

“I can relate to that,” Casey snorted. “What about your dad? And you’re an only child, right?”

Olivia sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s always just been me and Mama. I never knew my Daddy,” She glanced at Casey. “We’ve got a big family down in Georgia, lots of aunts and uncles and cousins. But Mama was always a little bit the outsider, since she and my Daddy didn’t get married when she got pregnant with me. He left before I was born, so I’ve never met him. And I like my cousins alright, but I was never like…” she waved a hand. “Friends with them. I saw them at family gatherings and that was about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Casey shifted in the passenger seat, turning more towards Olivia. “That sounds rough.”

“It’s fine,” Olivia said. “At least it was, until Mama and I started fighting. We’ve had lots of…” She exhaled. “Disagreements, we’ll call it, about my ‘lifestyle’ choices.” Olivia did finger quotes in the air. “But she’s happy that I’m doing well up north, and she’s happy to be president of the crafting committee at church back home, and that suits both of us just fine.”

“I don’t think I’ve had a normal conversation with my mother since I came out to her,” Casey confessed. “My dad’s been working on coming around. My brother was super chill immediately, but my mom…” Casey shook her head, looking out the window. “I don’t know that she’ll ever be okay with it.”

“I’m sorry, Casey,” Olivia reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know how awful that is.”

Casey squeezed her hand back, and then Olivia released it to put it back on the wheel.

“Moms, am I right?” Casey said, and Olivia laughed. 

“What are we gonna do about them?” Olivia’s smile was kind of sad. “You said your brother was coming to town this summer though, right?”

“Yeah, Cooper. I’m excited. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

Olivia grinned. “Oh, I’m gonna call him up right now, missy. Hand me over the phone,” she reached out her hand, and Casey laughed, swatting her away.

The inside of her chest felt firework bright, and she swatted that away, too.  

When Ilya Rozanov lost Rookie of the Year to Shane Hollander, Casey pouted about it.

“I’m not pouting,” she countered.

“You totally are,” Olivia pointed her finger. “Look, your lower lip is out and everything.”

Casey smacked her hand away. “I’m not pouting, I just think it should have gone to Roz.”

“Isn’t Hollandaise–”

“Hollander.”

“Whatever, isn’t he the hometown boy you were telling me about?”

“Yes,” Casey slumped in her booth. The restaurant they were in was too nice for her to be slumping and pouting. They were here to celebrate Olivia’s birthday, not for Casey to gripe and moan that her favorite player didn’t win his special boy award. 

Oh, god. She hadn’t realized that Ilya Rozanov was her favorite player until this exact moment. She needed to get her priorities checked. 

“Whatever,” Casey sat back up to her full height, and tucked her phone away, where she couldn’t get any more NHL updates for the evening. She’d write her article about it tomorrow. “No hockey talk on your birthday, I promised.”

“You did, but it’s fine,” Olivia smiled, twirling her fork around another bite of pasta. “Do you think Rozanov will be upset with the loss?”

Casey tilted her head, and thought of the cocky rookie in the locker room that she knew well. “Probably not,” she shrugged. “I don’t think it’ll bother him that much.”

Chapter End Notes

TWs: talking about Olivia's ex turning all her friends against her, Casey being outed in high school, both of them having complicated relationships with their mothers, mostly due to homophobia.

I knowwwww people wanted Casey and Olivia to go on their first date and get together immediately, but that's not quite their story! When I was writing my other fics in this series where their relationship was secondary to the cens plotline, I had some notions in my head about how they would get together and their family issues, so its fun to actually put it to the page! Hope y'all enjoyed! Apologies that there's no real posting schedule for this, thank you for your patience!

It literally makes me so crazy that in the National Hockey league, it is not standard practice to hire a translator for young players that don't speak english very well. Many rookies wind up having to rely on an older player that speaks the same language as them. For the caps most recently, Aliaksei Protas and Alex Ovechkin had to play translator to our baby Ivan Miroshnichenko. There is enough money in the NHL to hire translators!! makes me crazy. Anyway, happy Olympics!

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