I used to play hockey for the Pittsburgh Penguins. Well, I guess I still do, but as of right now, I do not. There is one very good reason why I currently do not, but I’ll get to that at a later time. Let me first start at the very beginning. My name is Emily LaRue, and the very, very first thing I would like to tell you is that I was the first female ever to be picked in the NHL draft. My first team was the Carolina Hurricanes. That was where I met my first Staal brother.
“Emily,” said Manager Jim Rutherford, “Welcome to the team. I’m sure Phil will get you accustomed to the rules of the league and such, but...” As he went on, I began to look around the long hall we were walking through toward the locker room. There were pictures of old teams and previous successful playoff series. As my eyes moved back to what was in front of me, I realized that I had almost walked into the door of our destination. My nerves quivered. I was excited and nervous and scared all at the same time.
“Please, don’t be afraid to let me or Coach know that you’re uncomfortable with any sort of situation.”
“With all due respect, I’m in the NHL, Mr. Rutherford. I don’t expect to get any special treatment.”
He nodded silently and pushed the door of the locker room open. “Good luck,” he said, and closed the door behind him.
Inside, it was pitch dark, and I was left alone (at least as far as I knew).
“Shit, Eric, hurry up!” Came a voice that was apparently toward the back of the room.
I tried to make my eyes adjust to the darkness, but there were literally no lights on at all. I was blinded by a cellphone being thrust in my face by someone, but before I could adjust to that, the light flicked on and almost prophetically, the first person I laid eyes on from the entire team was their six-foot-four, two hundred-five pound captain. He stood like a blond statue and I could have sword he may as well have been wearing a toga and had some olive branches on his head. Instead, he was wearing his warm-ups and was staring profoundly at me.
“Emily LaRue,” he said softly, “French Canadian?”
“Full-blooded American,” I corrected. He bowed slightly and with the rest of his team, formed a circle, which included me within it. Everyone began to introduce themselves and they had each formed a question to ask me. Most of it was about my personal life, some of it was about the realization that I would be playing with only men for the next few years, and some of it was about the team. I managed to answer each question without much of a hesitation, though I had to admit was wasn’t exactly ready for it.
The entire team went out ahead of me to get working on their practice. I quickly got changed and headed out onto the ice. I did a few laps and as I went around, I watched the guys move. They responded to each other so well that I was thankful for their talent.
I was called over and almost instantly, they flicked the puck to me. I bobbled it on my stick for a while before looking toward Cam Ward, who was staring intently at the puck on my stick. I faked right and shot to the left, and he caught it with ease.
“Don’t wait, kiddo,” said Eric as he grabbed the rebound and popped it into the back of the net. He jostled my helmet and grabbed another puck, flicked it to Jamie McBain and McBain threw it to me, me to Ruutu, and Ruutu beat Ward.
We practiced some sprints, scrimmaged, and continued on with the practice. Unnecessarily, Coach Phil introduced me to the team and called the practice quits. We all headed back to the locker room and began to change. I retreated to the deep recesses of the locker room peeled my gear off. I took a deep breath as my chest was liberated from the tightness of the pads. I wrapped a towel around myself and headed to the showers, shampoo, soap, and clothes in hand. I found the shower that was the farthest away from everyone, and hopped in, and turned on the hot water.
The liquid, as always, felt amazing on my aching muscles. I sighed quietly and closed my eyes, pulling my hair back with my hands. I stretched, clasping my hands firmly behind my head. I lathered up and scrubbed the sweat and grossness off my skin. I took as little time as possible and shut off the water. I didn’t dare open the curtain as I dried myself off. I heard water going a few showers away and dried myself off as quickly as possible.
I pulled my clothes on (a pair of dark jeans and a brown shirt), and pulled my hair up into a bun. I returned to my locker and applied deodorant and a body mist. I may be a hockey player, but I wasn’t about to smell bad in front of a bunch of sweaty, good-looking hockey players. I stuffed my uniform and pads into my duffel and hoisted it over to my official locker.
Eric Staal was lacing up his shoes and stood right next to me. I looked down at him and he finished tying his shoes. He looked up at me, and for a moment I considered his blond hair a halo.
“Hey,” he said, quietly. “Do you want to come out with me and some of the other guys to get a drink or something? Maybe some food? You know, guy-girl stuff.”
I stared at him, baffled. What was my response to that supposed to be? If I said yes, more than the media would have a field day. It may not be a date, exactly, but the new girl in the National Hockey League going out to dinner and a snuggle with the captain of her team two days before she plays the very first hockey game played by a woman in the history of the sport may not bode well for the players, Eric’s family (including his youngest brother in juniors and two others in the pros), or especially for Phil and Jim. Besides that, he was a full five years older than me. The other half of me said ‘what the hell. It’s not like you’re getting married tomorrow.’ I decided to go with that rationale. If the media wanted to label me as a tramp, let them, because the people that really know me know that I would never sleep around like that, or sleep around at all for that matter.
“Sure,” I said. “What time?”
“How about,” I could see the gears in that lovely blond head working, “Right now? It’s getting dark already, and I’m sure you haven’t really been around town that much.”
“Now? Uh...sure.”
To be honest, this was kind of cute. I wasn’t quite sure how he knew it was dark outside, since there were no things around indicating as much, but whatever. I didn’t really need anything, anyway, especially since he asked me out, not the other way around.
“Can I drive you?”
“As long as you promise to put me back where you found me, no scratches.”
He honest-to-God smiled. “I can’t promise that last part, but I will put you back on your shelf after this town dusts you off a bit.” He led the way out to his car and opened the door for me to get on the passenger’s side.
While we pause a moment for the drive to the cafe, let me tell you a little bit about myself. My mother was really against me playing hockey. I started when I was fifteen, and literally practiced my butt off to be where I am today. A lot of it was practice, and I have to admit the rest was God-given talent. Ironically enough, I grew up in the great city of Pittsburgh, and my dream that actually got me started at hockey in the first place was the Pittsburgh Penguins. I went to Mario’s last game, and Sid’s first. I had the biggest crush on him when I was younger, and now that I’m older, I have to laugh at myself.
Lemieux was obviously my idol. I hate Ovechkin with a passion because he dares to rival my Crosby, but knowing him, he’d probably check me half-way to the moon. I could only hope to hit him right back. When I was told that I had been put into the NHL draft, I was really excited, but I had worked hard and was one of the most competitive people I knew. To put it lightly, people hated playing boardgames around me.
I have strawberry blond hair and green-ish blue eyes, low cheekbones, and a fuller mouth. I’m five-eight and approximately one hundred seventy pounds of pure muscle, and I’m not just saying that. I’ve been muscular since my mom made me do gymnastics when I was five. Now, seventeen years later, I’m basically doing the opposite sport.
Anyway, at this point, we have now reached the cafe. It is here where I get introduced to a person who will change my life forever, and I was only to be playing him in a few days.
Eric held the door for me and to be honest, I was surprised. He probably did this for his wife, too. Oh, what a controversy this was going to stir up! I almost wanted to back down from it, but I realized I wasn’t really the type. If people had stuff to say to me, they could go ahead and say it.
Most of the people in the cafe gaped at us. Eric was in the middle of speaking with the host when my phone beeped, indicating a new text message. I pulled my Blackberry out and looked at the number. I recognized the Pittsburgh area code, but not the number. Maybe my dad got a new number and he was messaging it to me.
Welcome to fame, it read.
Instantly I texted back, thanks, dad
The host sat us and once again, my phone beeped. Eric looked down at it while I pulled it out of my pocket once more and set it on the table. I shoved the phone toward him and he looked at it calmly.
“Do you recognize this number?” I asked. Eric grinned.
“Maybe.”
“You’re a terrible lier.”
“Open it and see what it says,” he said. In the same breath he ordered us some coffee and cookies. I hit “View Now” and read the text quickly.
You wish--Jordan.
I looked back up at Eric. “Jordan--wait. You--” My eyes went wide with the realization. How stupid I must seem! “How did your brother get my number?”
Eric shrugged, and this time, I believed him. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
I complied with his suggestion and while I waited for a response, we sipped our coffee and ate our cookies.
Finally, it came.
I have my methods. cant wait to see you play on thurs. have a nice trip.
“Is he always this impudent?”
"Usually more,” Eric smirked.
Making a long story short, we finished our coffees and Eric took me around town. I was, even two days away from the game, getting nervous for battling the Pens.
Eric and I became good friends from the start. He warned me often about Jordan and his aggressive style of play, and I told him I knew about it, due to the fact that I’d seen him play before. Eric would just nod silently and we’d continue on with our day.
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