Now

Ray has promised me he won't say anything until the regular season ends. By that time someone new will be in place and I can spend a few weeks in the post-season training them. It's not ideal but I'll take it. The way this place is, the longer it can stay quiet the better.

I think about telling him.

Straight backed and head held high I would inform him in a calm and detached voice that I will no longer be working for the organization; in fact, I will no longer be living in Pittsburgh. My heart races at the thrill of telling him in so many words that he is no longer a factor in my life. It's the telling him I fantasize about, it's what he has to say in response that I dread. The fear that has consumed me ever since I made this decision is that his reaction will tell me what frightens me most. That I was never a factor in his. And I don't know if I can bear it.

But still, I think of his face when I tell him that in the fall I will be enrolled at the University of Pennsylvania Law School in Philadelphia. It's not Yale that dream died a long time ago, but it's Ivy League and it's in city he hates most. I went there the day after I found out about Katy. I gave myself an afternoon to grieve, me, a pint of ice cream and a binge worthy dose of Revenge episodes I had recorded on my DVR. The guilty pleasure I hadn't watched in weeks doing its best to soothe me, while I put on my rattiest and most comfortable pajamas and let myself disappear into the cushions of my couch. Then at 6:35 I switched off the TV, threw away the half empty pint (ok, who are we kidding, half gallon) of ice cream and padded mindlessly into my bathroom and ran a hot shower. I shed more tears as the scorching water pelted over me, each drop like a sharp needle against my skin. Then I emerged, my skin pink and raw, my eyes feeling like they were swollen shut. I pulled out my nicest pajamas, the ones Hilary had just given me this past Christmas, grabbed my laptop and crawled into bed. I looked at the list of Ivy League law schools, then researched the application process for all of them. Logically Penn makes the most sense and it will be an easier transition. Something I have a feeling I will need. Once it's decided I bound out of bed and begin to pack a suitcase. I left early the next morning, driving straight through to Claymont, the town I called home for the first 18 years of my life. A small middle class community just outside of Wilmington but close enough to be considered a Philly suburb. I arrived in the early afternoon and informed Dad of my plans. He seemed surprised at first, I think he'd thought the law school dream was forgotten, still guilty that he hadn't had the means to help make that dream a reality, but when I told him I'd be in Philly he was ecstatic. Even after all these years, he doesn't much care for Pittsburgh. He comes to visit and has been to games, but I can tell it just doesn't feel right to him. Molly, when she finally gets home from her various sports activities is thrilled. She's already been admitted to Temple, early admission so we'll be close. The next day, the three of us traveled to Philly and get the wheels in motion for my new life to begin. I spent the next ten days with Dad and Molly. I'd missed them. In the beginning I would go home for summers, but then work got so demanding that I was just as busy in the off season as I was during the season. And the visits dwindled down to nearly nothing. They came up to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving and I'd spent a hectic 24 hours in Delaware at Christmas and that had been it for months. But it would be different now. I would get my dream back. I would find my happiness.

I have to.

I stare at the login screen on my computer for a few more moments and my face reflects back to me through the glare of the screen. Its faint, my features not quite defined but it's my face and I nearly don't recognize myself. I think, when did I become this person? Tired, worn. Bitter and vindictive. It's not me. Isn't it? My eyes begin to fill with angry tears. Tears of regret and frustration and then finally tears of sadness. It's not the wracking sobs that consumed me in this very seat just a few weeks ago. Those were tears of loss and despair. No these tears are different and they fall silently as I type in my credentials and click login. I take a deep breath and then there is a knock on my open door and a voice.

His voice.

"Hey."

Then

"This," Claude states proudly his arms swinging with a flourish, "Is Rita."

It was another rainy Sunday and Rebecca was spending her afternoon staring at the large contraption behind the middle-aged man. Rita looked like a giant copier. A copier from the 1970s that is. It was grey and clunky and nearly took up half the office.While cranks and wheels weren't visible, Rebecca could picture them grinding as they spit out whatever it was designed to spit out.

Two weeks into the internship and Rebecca was nearly stir crazy with all the inane and monotonous tasks Claude had assigned to her. Sure, she was limited in what she could do. She'd signed a pile of documents filled with legalese that said in so many words that she couldn't breathe a word of anything she did or personal information she was exposed to otherwise she would be riddled with lawsuits until she was at least fifty. Travel secretary allowed for a lot of personal information about staff and the players to be available at one's fingertips. Addresses, phone numbers, allergies, medical history, you name it, it was recorded somewhere in Claude's pyramid of folders that lay precariously on the already cluttered desk. A perk to the internship had been its extremely flexible hours. She was required to work 10 hours a week but they could be broken down into any combination of days and times. Nights, weekends, whatever she needed. Her class load was heavy and challenging as always, so Rebecca found herself spending the first two weeks coming to the Igloo at all hours of the day and suspected it would stay that way. Claude always seemed to be here anyway, frazzled and up to his elbows in itineraries, he would have Rebecca alphabetize hotel contacts or stuff packets filled with all the appropriate information a player would need for a road trip. When Claude wasn't there, she'd get reassigned over to sales or marketing and work on giant mailings to season ticket holders or sponsors, mostly that entailed sealing envelopes or putting on labels. The place was run like a well oiled machine, a little worn and a little outdated, but still efficient. Much like the large machine that sat in front of her.

"Rita?" Rebecca asked, confused.

"R-I-T-A-S. The Reservation and Itinerary Ticketing Agency System, or as I affectionately call her, Rita. She may look a bit clunky, but she's a beast." Claude said proudly, as if he were talking about an old car or more appropriately some over the hill defenseman built like a tank, who still took out guys with a single hit.

"What does it do?" Rebecca asked curiously, inspecting the nooks and crannies Rita's large frame entailed.

"The question should be," Claude said smiling, brushing off her incorrect use of pronouns as he was more eager to show off his prized heifer. "Is what doesn't she do?" His eyes sparkled and it was no secret that Claude was really into his job. All these codes and dates, locations and schedules, he really loved it. And he seemed very good at it, despite being the messiest person she'd ever encountered.

But before she could answer, the man launched into a lengthy and somewhat confusing explanation of how RITA worked in direct connection with the reservation software on his computer. Type in the airport codes and dates and Rita would spit out plane tickets for any destination. It was the same machine used at travel agencies. Each time a ticket was spat out, the seat was reserved and the price charged to an account the team had set up with their approved list of airlines. She also worked for printing off reservation itineraries for hotels and even processing prepaid meal vouchers. She was, as Claude stressed, essential for all operations of the travel department.

Today's project: ticketing and hotel reservations for some late additions reporting for training camp for a professional tryout as well as a few prospects that had just gotten clearance to report to the Pens. There were fourteen sets to process and the players would be coming from all over the world.

Claude was heading out for an early dinner with his oldest daughter and was finally assigning Rebecca a real task. She would input the airport codes and dates from the sheet he provided, press print and RITA would do the rest. She was then to do the same for the hotel rooms and then put all the information together in the player's packets. It shouldn't take more than an hour, he assured her. They even did the first one together, as he made sure to answer any questions Rebecca might have.

She didn't have any. She'd watched him like a hawk, taking in each step and writing down notes. It wasn't much but she was excited to be given a task with some level of responsibility. She assured him she would complete the job swiftly and efficiently and Claude just gave her a smile but there was a look in his eyes as if he was still trying to figure her out.

Over the past few weeks, he'd tried to make small talk or chat her up about her family, school, interests, but Rebecca was quiet, serious. Focused and professional, but kept to herself. He couldn't criticize her for that, she was clearly intelligent, but just seemed…sad.

No matter, he was late and his college aged daughter was terribly impatient. Claude grabbed his coat, gave a salute and was out the door.

Rebecca immediately got to work and quickly realized that while Claude's method worked fine, she could be much more efficient if she imputed at the information at once then printed out the tickets at the end.

She imputed the information exactly as it appeared on the sheet and triple checked her work. Her eyes nearly bugged out at the locations that some of these players were coming from and the cost of the tickets, despite the team's hefty discount.

She pulled up the print screen, quickly typed in the parameters and clicked the button.

Within a few seconds RITA whirled to life and began to slowly but surely crank out the tickets.

It didn't take long for her to realize that something wasn't quite right. She'd gone over to collect the tickets that had printed so far and found the same name on seven tickets.

She was confused. She'd triple checked her work, each name was unique to its destination. It didn't make sense.

More tickets spit out and she looked at those. Again the same name.

Panicked she watched as tickets continued to come out at a steady speed. She looked at the new stack. Finally a different name appeared to Rebecca's relief. But not a quarter of a second later a new dread formed, finally understanding, she rushed to the computer screen. The print job listed 14 tickets were to be printed, but to Rebecca's horror, under number of copies was the number 10.

Her wrist must have bumped the zero on the number pad. Instead of 14 tickets, RITA was on her way to spitting out 140 tickets. Rebecca couldn't think. A hundred thoughts went through her head but number one was how to stop the printing. She wasn't sure what the ramifications were of so many tickets being printed, but she didn't want to find out. There was no cancel job option on the print screen and all the troubleshooting techniques she used when she needed cancel print jobs on her own computer, didn't seem to work on the old IBM. No matter what she did the sound of Rita grinding out ticket after ticket echoed in her ears.

Her first real task and she'd blown it. Would Claude fire her? What about her application? She felt irrational fear wash over her as her brain went into overdrive, concocting all the worst case scenarios she could think of.

Trying plan B, she rushed over to RITA and looked for some sort of cancel option but other than a foggy screen that glowed a dingy green, she couldn't find anything. The pile was starting to grow and tickets were sliding off the tray and onto the floor.

Rebecca was now in full freak out mode, she ran her hands over the machine, looking for an off switch and when she came up empty she realized she would have to unplug RITA.

Craning her neck around to inspect the back of the machine, Rebecca was relieved to see an industrial sized cord with a thick plug, plugged into the wall. If she could just shut RITA down, the printing would at least stop and then she could think and figure out a way to fix this.

The newest problem was, RITA must weigh at least half a ton. Rebecca squeezed her hand between the wall and the machinetrying to grab the plug.

No luck.

Her hand was coming up at least six inches short. She reached out further, her fingers stretched painfully to try and make contact, but no luck. Frustrated she pulled back her arm, as she realized she'd need to at least try to wiggle RITA a little ways from the wall to be able to reach the plug.

But when she pulled back her arm, it didn't move. In fact when she pulled a terrible pain shot through her arm. She twisted and wiggle, trying to get friction on her side and pull the appendage free, but nothing was happening. Her elbow felt like it was being crushed and her arm was quickly feeling warm and raw from rubbing harshly against the wall and the metal of the machine. Ten minutes of painful maneuvering and nothing.

She was stuck.

Sidney Crosby had barely walked out of Ray's office when he heard the ding of his cell sound, indicating he had a text message. He walked down the hall of the administrative offices, looking down to see who'd sent the message. Scanning through the numerous alerts and catching the time illuminated on the phone, he quickly realized he'd been in that meeting with Ray for nearly three hours. It wasn't a surprise really, there was a lot to discuss.

He'd gotten back into town just a week earlier and immediately reported back to the Igloo. The summer had been brutal. The memories of making it to the Stanley Cup Finals, of being so close to his dream and then having it snatched away on home ice no less had stung all summer long. Hell, it still stung. The conversation with Ray had been tough but necessary. Trying to make sense of what had been nearly a perfect season, he and Ray rehashed each series, each game and in the end the answer was simple. It just wasn't their year. He had to accept that and move on. It was a new year full of possibilities.

The newest text was from his dad. His eyes scanned the message. It was simple and to the point, as was the case with most of his messages. Sid felt a small pang of guilt. He needed to call him. He knew he did but it didn't stop Sid from putting it off. The first few weeks after the season Sid had been a hermit. Gone directly to his lake house, he spent the days in solitude. Hours on the lake just replaying the games over and over again. Then, the pity party was over and it was time to get to work. The pain was still there, but now he used it as motivation. He pushed himself harder and harder all summer. Stacking his schedule left little time to think. It also left little time to spend with family and his parents had noticed. Namely his dad. He knew Troy was disappointed. His parents' investment in his career meant they felt agony of defeat, just as hard as the triumph of victory. They were with him for the highs and would be for the lows as well.

If he had let them.

He just couldn't deal with his dad and the disappointment that would lace his voice when they would go over for the millionth time what went wrong. Talking to Ray was productive, he felt their discussions about the season specifically or just hockey in general got them somewhere, with Troy not so much. Rather than be productive, Sid found himself feeling inadequate and transported back to being a kid when despite being the lead scorer on a team of guys years older than him, his dad would spend hours after games analyzing the mistakes and find ways Sid could improve his game. Sid would take the notes and head down to the basement to practice late into the night.

He was eleven years old.

With a sigh he snapped shut his phone and walked down the quiet and desolate hallway. He'd just rounded a corner when he heard a noise, a banging of some sort. The floor was virtually empty but as he walked further down the long corridor he heard a voice paired with the banging. It was muffled but clearly belonged to a woman but all he could make out was sounds of frustrations and a few curse words. Not sure he wanted to get involved, he was hesitant to approach the open office door. It was easier for him to keep everything and everyone at a distance, it allowed for him to concentrate on his game and not become public fodder even in the halls of his workplace.

It was coming from Claude's office, which was odd. Claude was a one man operation from what Sid knew, he was a nice guy, always in some state of dishevelment, kind of quirky but knew his stuff. For a split second Sid wondered if someone had broken into the office or perhaps he was interrupting something he should just stay out of. But the voice sounded distressed and he couldn't not stop.

He was not prepared for the sight that met him when he walked into the office.

There in the corner sat a woman, a girl, really. Her legs were tucked beneath her small frame, as she was pressed flush against the wall. She was young, college aged probably. She wore a dark skirt and a fuzzy short sleeved sweater and her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed, a light sheen coating her olive skin. A deep frown was set on her face, as he watched her for a moment bang at the office equipment and mutter angrily at the machine.

He should just move along, but there was something more going on than what he could see.

"You ok?"

His voice startled her and she sprung back, or at least tried to. Her gaze flew to him and he was met with bright green eyes, framed with thick lashes. She looked at him surprised and then winced.

"Ow." Was all she said.

It was then he realized that one of her arms was not in his sight line. He furrowed his brow and she answered his question.

"I'm fine."

Her face was a mix of panic and irritation. Her eyes shone bright with unshed tears. It was evident she was in some sort of pain.

"You're stuck." He corrected her.

Her cheeks grew a brighter red.

"Well, yes, I am." She said matter of fact, "But I'm figuring it out."

He couldn't help but smile. This conservation that he'd fallen into was bordering on the absurd. Here he was standing in the small clutter office, still in his workout clothes talking to a stranger who'd basically shackled herself to the wall.

"It doesn't look like you're figuring it out."

The girl just looked at him and then bit at her lower lip.

"Will you help me?" She asked quietly and Sid had a feeling it was a question she didn't normally ask.

And then he sprung into action.

Rebecca watched as he came towards her. His eyes scanning RITA, surveying the situation. He looked so familiar. She was pretty sure he was a player, but not one she'd met before. Yet she knew she'd seen him before. He'd startled her just a few moments ago. She'd been determined to figure out a solution for her predicament, but honestly she'd just been a few minutes away from just shouting out for help. It was mortifying really. She was so embarrassed to be found like this. It was one thing for some regular person from the front office find her like this, but a player? She was sure she looked like an idiot.

He on the other hand was beautiful. He wore a dark t-shirt that spelled Penguins Hockey across his broad chest and dark shorts that showed off the thickest legs she'd ever seen, dusted with coarse hair. He work a hat slung over his eyes and his features were large but perfectly balanced, as if he were some Disney prince. Her eyes stayed wide as they followed him come closer and closer, until his hip was at eye level. Despite all her good sense, she felt her pulse quicken and her mouth go dry at his closeness. It was so stupid, she knew, but tell her body that.

He peeked around to the back of the copier and dropped into a crouch, his body leaned towards her as he inspected the situation more closely. All Rebecca could look at were the layers of muscle that strained against the fabric of his shorts.

"May I?" he asked, his hands reaching out to her arm. Sheepish she may have been caught staring, she looked up and met his gaze. She now could see the dark brown of his eyes and long lashes that any girl would be jealous of.

Wordlessly she nodded.

His touch was gentle as he tried to lift her arm up, it wouldn't budge. He tried a few more angles, being extremely careful the whole time.

"You got it stuck in there pretty good, eh?" He gave her a crooked smile and Rebecca just stared at him.

She needed to say something, anything.

"I was trying to unplug it." She said dully. "I made too many copies."

She looked down at the pile of tickets that he'd inadvertently stepped on and his eyes followed hers.

Sid looked at the large pile of paper that had collected beneath his feet and he realized that she must be working for Claude. He quickly stood and stepped off the pile.

"Alright," he announced. "This thing is pretty big, so I'm going to need you to pull your arm on three, ok?"

She nodded, her eyes cautious but trusting.

"Ok" she replied.

Sid looked around the machine, searching for some sort of leverage. When he was satisfied he'd found it, he gripped the machine, took a deep breath, lifted and pulled.

"1-2-3, pull!" he shouted, gritting his teeth as he felt the behemoth come away from the wall.

Rebecca obediently pulled at his command and her arm came free.

She nearly wept with relief.

"I'm free!" she exclaimed watching his arms flex with exertion, his forearms tense, his biceps bulging. It was a sight to see.

Unceremoniously Sid dropped Rita, the few seconds of exertion had been exhausting. Sweat coated his neck and temples and he could feel his cheeks flush. He turned to the girl and looked at her arm. It was raw and red, it probably would bruise a bit but he suspected she'd be ok.

"You alright?" he asked slightly out of breath.

She rubbed at her arm, but nodded, "Yes, thank you. I don't know what I would have done. Thank you." She repeated.

Sid held out his hand to help her up. She looked at it for a moment then placed her good hand in his and allowed herself to be pulled up to a standing position.

He released her instantly and Rebecca suddenly felt very awkward and silly.

"Do you want a trainer to take a look at that?" he asked gesturing to her limp arm. They were standing face to face, only a few feet apart.

The girl appeared to be in a daze and Sid hoped it wasn't for any other reason than the events she'd just experienced.

Shaking herself into sense, Rebecca shook her head and looked for a way to end this encounter. She was warm, too warm for her liking. She was jittery and fuzzy headed. She needed to clean up this mess, wait for Claude to return and get out of there. Back to her sanctuary of her small apartment with her books and her assignments and a life that she had control of.

"I'll be fine." She replied, with a newly added stiffness to her voice. "Tha.." she cleared her throat. "Thank you, again. I really appreciate it."

Sid rocked a bit on his heels, still not sure what to make of this girl. The air around them had grown strange and it had been a long day.

"Yeah, no problem." He replied rubbing at the back of his neck. "Ok well, see ya." He gave a nod, turned and left.

Rebecca watched him leave, her hand lightly cradling the injured arm. She was grateful but a little overwhelmed by his presence. All the girly feelings she rarely had roared to life and she came to a quick conclusion.

She had a bit of a crush.

She collected all the tickets that lay at her feet and put them in a tidy pile, thinking of what she would tell Claude. She figured the truth would be her best bet. She placed the ticket on the desk and an image caught her eye. It was a schedule pinned to a cOrkney board. A schedule of the upcoming season. A grid of dates and abbreviations fill the paper and at the top was an image. A player. In full gear, in a stance of victory. And his face, that familiar face with those eyes.

And she knew.

***Thank you so much for your reviews! I'm really excited to about this story and am so happy you all are too! I will be taking A LOT of luxuries with how the travel secretary does his job and how all the player stuff works, so there will surely be some inaccuracies. This story is a little different than what I've done before and the way that it is structured, the reader will only be given bits of information at a time before all is revealed. So for some that may be frustrating, but I hope in the end the payoff is worth it. Also I will be revisiting my obsession of Sid and Troy's relationship, so yeah that will be a thing again. Going to the game tomorrow night, so excited to see the team again. We're off to a solid start and glad to see Pascal is going to be ok. Go Pens!***