by Vera Roberts
“Everything,” Sydney slightly shrugged, “the focus is on him, but the attention is on me. My social pages have blown up lately. It’s not just my fans commenting but his. I notice my fans don’t care about hockey but his? Whew. Fanboys galores. And they’re telling me not to mess anything up. And that I shouldn’t show up to the games, etc. When Dean had a bad game the other day, someone said how I was just like Jessica Simpson and I was a distraction to him. Someone else said how I should be like the other athletes’ WAGs and stay home and bake cookies.”
“How many fucks do you own?” Ian asked.
“What?” Sydney was shocked how blatant Ian was. “How many fucks do I own?”
“Yes, fucks.” He repeated “Do you own one? Two? A dozen?”
“I don’t own any,” she shook her head.
“And you’re not supposed to. A true artist only cares about bettering themselves and working on their craft. You’re not supposed to cater to everyone’s whim just because some are butthurt. If you always did that, they’ll always expect it. People are drawn to you because of the emotions you make them feel. Most people will forgive a person’s indiscretions as long as they perform right eighty-nine percent of the time. The other eleven percent is just you being human and is required.” Ian encouraged. “Think of your hockey player, does he give a fuck about what his distractors say? I’m sure he gets a lot of grief and some of it is probably unfair.”
Sydney thought about Dean for a moment. While he had plenty of fans, he also had plenty of haters. It seemed there was an equal amount of people who supported him and those who really wanted to see him fail. She also found it weird for those who claimed not to be fans of him, voraciously watched every thing he did. I really don’t pay attention to any of that, he once told her, if I replied to every comment, every snark, every mean thing people say about me, then they win. If I don’t reply, I let them starve as they watch me succeed. “He doesn’t pay attention to any of it.”
“And neither should you,” Ian took off his glasses and chewed them, “Sydney, I know a lot of very talented people – singers, dancers, actors. Some world-famous and household names. Some who are very content being indie stars. Some you don’t know yet. But they all have one thing in common – they stopped giving a fuck about others’ opinions the moment they knew they had a talent. Very few people will try to give you constructive criticism but quite a few won’t hesitate to tear you down so they can feel superior.”
“So, what is your suggestion? Easier said than done.”
“Ignore them,” Ian shrugged, “if they’re talking about you – good or bad – they’re promoting you. Make sure they’re spelling your name right.”
“And former fans?”
“There’s no such thing. Either you’re a fan or you were never one to begin with.” He smiled. “It’s simple as that. You could like a book, a movie, or a song from someone and not necessarily be a fan of that person. You just happened to like what they did at that time. But for anyone to say they’re no longer a fan of you because of something you did, it tells me unless what you did was against the law or humanity, that maybe that person needs to stop drinking butthurt juice and switch to a brand I love called It Ain’t About You And It Never Will Be.”
Sydney immediately felt enlightened. It wasn’t that Dean and Sarah didn’t express the same sentiments but it somehow sounded different coming from Ian. It was like he touched on her spirit and spoke to her in a way only she could understand. “You’re amazing.”
He winked. “I try to be.”
“It’s like you understand me in a way I wish Dean could.” Sydney replied. “I guess we don’t really understand each other’s passions that much.”
Ian leaned in closer and held Sydney by the small of her back. “Maybe that’s a good thing,” he whispered.
From a small distance, Chris watched the interaction between Sydney and Ian. His younger brother mentioned how much he didn’t like Ian and Chris was beginning to see why.
Chris made sure it would be his mission to keep Ian and Sydney separated for the remainder of Dean’s game.
****
No one bothered him. That was what he liked best about everything pre-game.
Athletes had their own way of getting into the zone. Some played video games. Some listened to music. Some read. Some played with toys. Dean closed his eyes and meditated with some good friends who went by Q-Tip, Phife Dawg, and DJ Ali.
As “Award Tour” played in his ears, Dean silenced his critics who downplayed every move he did. He turned off the noise from the snarks who never hesitated in telling him how he would never be Wayne Gretzky. When Dean first started with the Kings, he was constantly compared to the Great One. As he played more, Dean’s legend grew on its own, creating both lovers and haters alike.
Notoriously known for his privacy, Dean reluctantly joined Twitter and Instagram, though he never used either very much. His preferred method of reaching through fans was in person, taking photographs and signing every single autograph. What interaction could he do online or over his phone?
He would worry about that later. While the media hyped up him breaking one of Wayne Gretsky’s records, Dean was more focused on getting Kings another championship. To him that was more important than a record that would just be broken by the next person. He just hoped he didn’t disappoint Sydney. Things were a little tense between them lately and Dean blamed it on their respective careers but not enough couple time.
Once the game was over, and the celebrations ran their course, maybe they would go vacation somewhere exotic. Hell, maybe they’ll bring the Stanley Cup with them.
****
She finally made the big leagues.
As Seren proudly showed her media credential to the heavy security presence, she made through the crowd at Staples Center. It was an overwhelming sea of black, grey, and white as fans sported their favorite Kings gear. Dean’s jersey number, 94 – his birth year – was sported proudly by young fans who weren’t even around when Martin was on the air.
“So, they are in Private Suite 7,” Seren mentioned to her boyfriend, Brody. “We’re almost there.”
“Can’t believe she invited you to the private suite!” Brody commended. He wore Dean’s jersey as good luck and support. “That’s hella cool of her!”
“We chatted a bit over the phone and she seems like a really sweet person so I figure I owe her this honor.” Seren chewed her lip. “Though I do feel guilty.”
“She still doesn’t know about the photo, I take it?” Brody asked.
“I haven’t heard a word about it. I’m not sure if I should be the one who tells her. Tell her, ‘Hey, your man might be stepping out on you’ and get the brunt because I’m the messenger? Or if I don’t tell her, she’ll get angry at me for knowing about it and didn’t say anything.” Seren really felt like she was stuck between a rock and a hard place, with the between being her friendship with Sydney. “So, I don’t know.”
“Go with your conscience,” Brody suggested, “she won’t get mad at you for being a good friend.”
“No,” Seren opened the door to another entryway, “she’ll get mad at me for doing my job.”
They walked a little before running into Rebecca and her crew. “Well, hello there,” Rebecca greeted Seren with a smile, “what brings you here? Doing the preshow interviews? Interviewing the cheerleaders?”
Seren caught the shade and used it as covering for the venom she was about to spit at her nemesis. “Hello, Rebecca. What brings you here?”
“The same reason why everyone in L.A. is here,” Rebecca replied as she looked around, “it’s a full house tonight.”
“It is. So thotful of you to come tonight,” Seren smiled. “Well, I need to be going. I have a story I need to report and I’m already running late. See you later!”
“What story are you reporting?” Rebecca asked. “Sydney’s not here and hasn’t been at any games.”
Seren shook her head, no. “Sydney�
��s been at every game. You see, unlike you, she knows when it’s time for her man to shine so she can be in the background.” She then left with Brody, who simply saluted her goodbye.
Rebecca felt her teeth clatter in anger. Sydney was there? When in the hell did she sneak in? She wanted to follow Seren but was stopped by security. “Only VIPs in this area, ma’am.”
The usage of ma’am reminded Rebecca how old she was. “I’m a VIP! I’m Rebecca MacDonald from All Entertainment. I’m supposed to be in there!”
“All press is thataway!” The security pointed down the long corridor. “This is strictly for VIPs only.”
“How does one become a VIP?” Rebecca inquired. “Who do I talk to?”
“You talk to the Fergusons about that,” the security guard let a few other high-profile guests through and closed the door behind them.
Rebecca gave the guard a quizzical look. The Fergusons had that much pull? “Who do I speak with?”
“Ma’am, if you excuse yourself?” The security sneered.
“I’m leaving, I’m going.” Rebecca turned on her heels and walked back down the corridor. She needed to figure out how to get in contact with a Ferguson and quick.
****
One couldn’t have written a better ending.
The Kings were tied with the Rangers at four apiece. It boiled down to a shootout between teams. After many shots were blocked by both goalies, it was now Dean’s turn.
The crowd at the Staples Center got on their feet. The thunderous roar of fans stomping the ground compounded with those clapping, screaming and cheering. Parents hoisted their children on their shoulders so they could witness history.
Dean already broke the record for the most assists but if he made the shot, he would also break the record for most goals scored in a Finals series. The sports commentators did a side-by-side comparison between Dean and Wayne, highlighting the obvious similarities and differences. His teammates interlocked arms with each other in solidarity. The head coach chewed his lips and muttered words underneath his breath.
All Dean heard was silence. All he saw was the net in front of him. The stadium was empty. There were no crowds. There were no snarks. They were no fans. He was sure that blockade in front of the net was a person but his eyes and brain deceived him. They saw a large boulder and all Dean knew he had to get past it.
He skated slowly before building to a fast pace. Once he was close to the net, he spun around so his back was facing the goalie, quickly swiped the puck into the net, before he circled around.
It was over.
The Staples Center erupted into cheers. The Kings piled onto the ice. The coach pumped his fists in the air as he jumped up and down.
As Dean pulled away from his teammates, he looked up at the Staples Center luxury boxes. When he realized where Sydney was, he pointed in her direction and blew a kiss to her.
He was a King but she was his Queen.
****
“So, how does it feel to be engaged to a rock star?” Seren asked Sydney.
Sydney couldn’t stop smiling. It was an incredible play by Dean and she felt like the world’s greatest fiancée, complete with tiara and sash. “Amazing! I’m so proud of him!”
“Are you going to go down to see him?” Seren asked. “I’m sure he’s asking for you.”
“I’ll make my way down there now,” Sydney picked up her purse. “I’ll give my champ a big, fat kiss!” Sydney rushed out of the room.
Seren packed up her belongings and walked over to the Fergusons, who were celebrating on their own. “Thank you for hosting me. This was quite an honor. I very much appreciate it.”
“Not a problem!” Anthony commended. “Any friend of Sydney’s is a friend of ours!”
“I need to leave now because I have a lot to report on.” She picked up her bag. “Thank you again!”
“I’ll walk you down,” Ian offered, “it’s crowded and I know a few shortcuts not taken by crowds and what-not.”
“I would like that,” Seren turned to her boyfriend, “Brody, are you good, babe?”
“I’m more than good!” Brody held up a beer. “I’ll take an Uber home!”
“We’ll make sure he gets home safe,” Ian reassured before he escorted Seren out.
Within the nooks and crannies of the Staples Center, Ian introduced a secret hallway for Seren to safely leave. “Not too many people know about this,” he added.
“I didn’t even know about this!” Seren replied as she looked around. It was dim and a bit moody. “How many private hallways does this place have?”
“Oh, I can’t give that information,” Ian winked, “but it’s plenty.”
After comfortably walking in silence for a short while, Seren broached a potential career-ending subject. It was worth the risk because she always figured the National Enquirer were right with their slogan, ‘Inquiring minds want to know…’ “So, how does it feel to be in love with someone you can’t have?”
Ian chuckled and cast a quick glance at Seren. “Oh?”
“You don’t have to play coy with me, Ian,” Seren replied, “it’s pretty obvious you have a thing for Sydney. I saw the way you two interacted tonight.”
“And how did we interact tonight?” Ian inquired. “I thought I was friendly with everyone.”
“You were,” Seren nodded, “but you gave extra attention to Sydney.”
“Sydney is my artist and she’s going to have a huge show in a few months,” Ian replied, “so I have to pay attention to her. I need to know her state of mind, how’s she doing physically, what other issues are going on. People think it’s just a superficial relationship between a gallery and an artist but it’s much more personal. If I don’t like the artist, or vice-versa, it’s going to be a painful relationship for all parties involved.”
“I love how you politely avoided the question,” Seren was impressed, “I’ll drop it.”
They reached the end of the corridor and Ian opened the door for her. “Your question was how was it like to be in love with someone I can’t have. To be a good journalist, Seren, you need to ask the right questions.” He winked before shutting the door.
Seren stared at the door for a long while contemplating what Ian said to her. She knew she had a lot to learn but was stumped by what he’d meant. He didn’t outright deny her accusation but he didn’t confirm, neither. She took a few steps before she realized what he meant.
Her question should’ve been: How does it feel like to be in love with someone you will have?
****
After the celebratory speeches given by various members of the Kings staff and Finals’ MVP, Dean, Sydney joined Dean in the locker room. They kissed and hugged in front of the flashing lights and cameras as photographers shouted out “Perfect!” and “Exquisite!”
“You did it, baby!” Sydney whispered to Dean. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, holding him extra tight while they shared a private moment in front of millions of people. Fellow Kings players sprayed them both with champagne.
“I did it with you,” he whispered, “you’re my good luck charm.” He held onto her tighter. “I’m so fucking you tonight.”
“Dean!” Sydney giggled.
“I’m going to wrap your thighs around my neck and eat your…”
“Dean, I need a shot of you and Sydney with the Cup!” A photographer called out.
“Save by the Cup,” Sydney replied.
“You have a couple of cups I wouldn’t mind drinking out of.” He whispered before they posed with the Cup. He held her waist and smiled down at Sydney. “We did it, baby girl. Just me and you.”
“You did it, babe,” Sydney looked up at him, “I don’t know how to ice skate.”
Dean was mesmerized by Sydney’s smile. She could light up the darkest room. “There are times I look at you and wonder how in the hell am I so damn lucky. Sometimes I stare at you, be completed enchanted by your beauty, and wonder why me? Why did I end up with the most beautiful girl in the
world?”
“You’re going to ruin my makeup,” Sydney’s eyes watered.
Dean thumbed a tear away from her cheek and replaced it with a soft kiss. “As long as I’m ruining it for the right reasons.”
****
“You came back from a very tough injury, just to capture the Stanley Cup title,” A reporter asked Jameson, “what was your rehab process like?”
“Lots of therapy, some training, and of course, kicking back with some Sarah Leigh,” Jameson winked at Sarah sitting next to him, who sheepishly turned away.
“Is that an endorsement for Sarah Lee cookies?” Another reporter asked.
“No, it’s not an endorsement,” Jameson shook his head, “I haven’t ate her cookie to endorse it.” Sarah elbowed him. “What? It’s true!”
“The opportunity is there, you know?” Sarah whispered. “But you don’t gotta put our business out on front street.”
“When I’m in love with the woman of my dreams, I don’t care who knows,” his deep voice sent trembles down to her spine.
Sarah glanced back at her boyfriend and sighed. “You’re going to make me wear out a set of batteries.”
“Good,” Jameson smiled, “your toys are keeping it warm for me.”
It was already warm in the locker room, but it suddenly felt like 10,000 degrees to Sarah. It was bad enough her boyfriend was the hottest man on the planet; he making sexual innuendos didn’t help their cause. “Will. You. Shut. Up?”
****
After the crowd cleared, Dean and Sydney emerged from the Kings’ area with their families and friends. They were making plans to get a late dinner when a familiar voice called out to them.
“Congratulations on your victory!”
Dean stopped in his track as he recognized Rebecca’s voice. He reluctantly turned around and smiled at her as she quickly approached him. He noticed she had her camera crew in tow. “Thank you.”
“I still need your signature to sign off the release of your first exclusive,” Rebecca added, “we didn’t get one as we played catch up.”
“An exclusive?” Sydney asked. “What is she talking about, Dean?”