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VICTORIA

T he Sugar & Scrub Day Spa exudes tranquility, air scented with lavender and soft instrumental music playing in the background. I find Natalie, Sara, and Olivia already waiting in the plush reception area, all dressed in comfortable clothing similar to my jeans and sapphire sweater.

“Victoria!” Natalie exclaims, rising to greet me with a warm hug that surprises me with its genuine affection. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” I reply, returning her hug after only a moment’s hesitation. “This place looks amazing.”

“You’re going to love it.” Olivia hands me a mimosa, and the four of us clink glasses. “To team bonding,” she toasts, and I’m immediately I’m glad I came.

As we change into plush robes in the locker room, I’m hyperaware of these women around me. Their bodies, like mine, don’t conform to the stereotypical athletic ideal, yet they move with a confidence I’ve spent years trying to cultivate. There’s no awkward tugging at hems or strategic positioning—just the casual comfort of women who’ve accepted themselves.

It hits me then. They’ve all likely faced the same scrutiny I fear, yet here they are, thriving. Not in spite of their bodies, but within them.

“So,” Natalie says as we settle in the relaxation lounge, “I heard you’re coming on the road trip, Victoria. Declan texted Luc, who told me.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks. “News travels fast.”

“At light speed in our little circle,” Sara confirms with a grin. “Though Emile heard it from Declan directly during the team meeting. Said he couldn’t stop smiling.”

“He seemed pretty excited when I told him,” I admit, thinking back on the multiple orgasms he gave me in the shower. “I’m still not sure it’s the right call, but five days seems like a long time to be apart when we’re still so new.”

“Aw, that’s adorable,” Sara says, but there’s no mockery in her tone. “The honeymoon phase is the best.”

“Is that what this is? I thought it was temporary insanity brought on by exposure to hockey pheromones.”

“Just wait until you experience hotel room reunions,” Natalie adds with a knowing smile. “Absence really does make the heart—and other parts—grow fonder.”

“Natalie!” Olivia laughs, nudging her with an elbow. “Though she’s not wrong.”

“Oh lord. So, do hockey partners get some kind of manual I haven’t seen yet?” I ask, feeling my face flame red but loving the easy camaraderie. “Chapter Four: ‘How To Survive Road Trips Without Spontaneously Combusting’?”

They laugh immediately, and I realize it’s been a long time since I’ve had a group of female friends like this—maybe not since before my parents died and I left the Granite City Ballet Company.

As we settle onto massage tables arranged side by side, I find the therapist’s skilled hands working away tension makes it easier to talk about what’s really bothering me.

“I have to admit I’m a little worried,” I confess, voice soft in the dimly lit room. “About the media attention.”

“That’s understandable,” Olivia says from the table next to mine. “The hockey world can be... intense. The first time Calvin and I were photographed together at an official event, a sports blog ran a headline calling me ‘Dr. Curvy’ instead of using my actual name.”

“Oh no,” I murmur, appalled.

“The comments section was even worse,” she adds, her voice matter-of-fact. “But Calvin sent flowers to my office with a note calling me ‘Dr. Beautiful.’ And then he called the news editor directly.”

“She got a very public apology,” Sara confirms. “It was glorious.”

“And worth it,” Olivia finishes. “But it did take some getting used to.”

The massage therapist finds a knot in my shoulder, and I wince before it finally releases. It feels like this entire day—pressure I didn’t realize I was holding, easing in ways I didn’t expect.

“But doesn’t it bother you?” I ask, the question I’ve been holding back finally escaping. “The way they focus on your looks? The judgment, the scrutiny, the feeling of being reduced to just your body?”

There’s a moment of silence, broken only by the soft ambient music.

“Of course it bothers us,” Olivia says finally. “We’re human. But hiding doesn’t actually protect you from judgment—it just means you’re letting other people’s opinions control your life.”

“Easy to say,” I murmur. “Harder to live.”

“Truth,” Sara agrees. “We’re big girls who’ve managed to snag some of the most eligible men in the city. There are women who think they’re more deserving just because they like to look at them from a distance. But they don’t know our guys’ hearts. When you meet your person, you can’t even see anyone else. These people and their opinions mean nothing.”

“We love each other,” Natalie adds softly. “That’s what matters. Not the noise.”

I’m silent, mulling over their words. I never admitted it outright, but since falling for Declan, my body anxiety has come back in full force. What if he decides he needs to protect his image and I end up humiliated? Or worse—what if he stays with me out of some misplaced loyalty while secretly longing for someone else?

After the massage, we’re whisked to another lounge with champagne and fruit platters.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Olivia starts, “why is this such a specific concern for you? You seem particularly worried about the spotlight.”

I pause with my glass held to my lips. They’re all looking at me with kindness and curiosity.

“Something happened,” I begin, setting my glass down. “When I was younger, trying to make it as a professional ballerina.”

There’s a pause as they wait, their expressions encouraging.

And then I tell them everything—about Anton, the lead dancer who pursued me privately while keeping me a secret ‘for professional reasons.’ About how he humiliated me when we were discovered, claiming I’d misinterpreted his kindness because I was ‘obsessed’ with him. How I overheard him laughing with other dancers that no one would believe someone like him would date ‘the fat girl.’

“What a prick,” Olivia states flatly.

“I hope he got terrible bunions and can never dance again,” Sara says with fierce conviction that startles a laugh out of me.

“I quit within the week. Moved back to Peach Springs, started my studio.” I swallow hard. “But the humiliation taught me a lesson about staying in my lane, about not inviting scrutiny by taking up space where I don’t belong.”

“That’s utter garbage,” Natalie states firmly. “You belong wherever you damn well want to be.”

“And Declan is nothing like that,” Olivia adds, her voice gentle but certain.

“I know,” I agree quickly. “It’s not about him. It’s about everyone else—the media, the fans, the trolls who’d have a field day with the curvy ballet teacher dating the hockey star. And even then, it’s not just about me. I’ve built this safe space for my students back in Peach Springs. Kids who don’t fit the ballet mold but love to dance. If their teacher becomes some punchline...”

“Then you show them how to stand tall anyway,” Natalie says. “You show them that other people’s opinions don’t define your worth.”

“Besides,” Olivia adds, “those kids would probably think it was the coolest thing ever that you’re dating a hockey player.”

I laugh despite myself. “Maybe.”

“When I first went public with Calvin,” Olivia continues, “I got an email from a young girl struggling in medical school. She wrote that seeing me—someone who looked like her—being celebrated as both a successful doctor and loved by someone in the spotlight gave her hope.”

“Sometimes being visible, despite the risks, creates space for others like us,” Sara adds gently.

As we move to our facial treatments, Natalie links her arm with mine. “We understand the fear,” she says. “We’ve all been there. But hiding isn’t the answer.”

“And the team protects its own,” Sara adds. “If anyone crosses a line, they’ll face not just Declan, but everyone in our little hockey family.”

As we settle in for facials, cucumber slices covering our eyes, I feel a strange sense of peace washing over me. For so long, I’ve faced my fears alone, built walls without realizing how isolating they’d become.

“Thank you,” I say into the darkened room. “For understanding. For not judging.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Natalie responds simply.

Friends. The word settles warmly in my chest.

“I’m curious,” Sara says, changing the subject, “who do you think will be the next to fall? These hockey players are dropping like flies lately.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as the pedicurist applies polish to my toes.

“First Luc and Natalie, then Emile and me, then Calvin and Olivia, and now you and Declan. The single guys are becoming endangered species.”

Olivia laughs. “My vote is for Callum. That man needs someone to draw him out of his shell.”

“Oh, definitely Callum,” Natalie agrees. “Have you seen those cheekbones? And those hands? Goalie hands.” She makes a meaningful sound that makes us all laugh.

“He barely speaks, though,” Sara points out. “How would anyone know he’s interested?”

“The quiet ones are always worth the effort,” Natalie says sagely. “Callum’s got that brooding artist thing. He paints landscapes, you know.”

I nearly choke on my own spit. “The human wall who stops pucks for a living... paints landscapes? What’s next—the team enforcer writes poetry?”

From there, the conversation shifts to practical advice about road trips. By the time we move to pedicures—mine a deep burgundy that matches the dress Declan likes—I’m taking mental notes and actually looking forward to the trip.

“Always have your staff ID visible in public,” Olivia explains. “It gives you a professional reason to be there.”

“Bring snacks,” Sara warns. “Arena food gets old fast.”

“And comfortable shoes,” Natalie adds. “You’ll be doing more walking than you expect.”

By late afternoon, when we’re finishing with blowouts, I feel both pampered and prepared. But more than that, I feel supported in a way I haven’t experienced in years.

“We should exchange numbers,” Sara suggests as we gather our belongings. “For the road trip group chat.”

“Group chat?” I echo.

“It’s how we coordinate during away games,” Olivia explains. “Where to meet, which restaurants are good, when buses are leaving. Basically, information the guys forget to tell us.”

“Plus, we share player memes and behind-the-scenes photos,” Natalie adds with a wink. “Strictly confidential, of course.”

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days. “Count me in.”

As we say our goodbyes, Natalie pulls me into another hug. “Remember, if anything happens that makes you uncomfortable, we’re all just a text away.”

“We’ve got your back,” Sara confirms.

“Hockey partners stick together,” Olivia adds, squeezing my hand. “No matter what.”

Driving home, I marvel at how my life has shifted in just a few weeks. From solitary ballet instructor with carefully maintained boundaries to... whatever I am now. Declan’s girlfriend? The term seems simultaneously too small and too significant for what’s developing between us.

But as I pull into the driveway of my building, thinking about packing for a trip I’d never have considered a week ago, I realize I’ve gained more than just a relationship with Declan. I’ve found community, something I’ve been missing for years without recognizing its absence.

My phone buzzes. I’ve been added to a group chat titled ‘Hockey WAGs & Hags’ with crown and hockey stick emojis. A message from Sara pops up immediately:

Sara: Welcome to the madness, Victoria! Officially inducted into the club!

It’s followed by messages from Olivia and Natalie, already planning dinner for our first night in Houston. My thumb hovers over the screen, emotion tightening my throat. Then I type:

Me: Thanks for having me. This means more than you know.

The response is immediate, a flurry of heart emojis and genuine welcome that makes me laugh out loud.

There’s still uncertainty ahead—the public nature of the trip, the media, the questions about what happens when the season ends and I’m scheduled to return to Peach Springs. But for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m facing those questions alone.

As I head inside to get changed for the arena, I send Declan a quick text:

Me: Ready for the game tonight?

His response comes within seconds:

Declan: Just finishing my stretches before warm-ups. Everything ok with spa day?

I smile, typing:

Me: Better than ok. I think I made some friends.

Declan: That’s my girl. I knew you’d like them. Those ladies are almost as amazing as you.

His compliment warms me from the inside, and I allow myself to feel it without the usual reflexive dismissal. Maybe it’s time to start believing the good things people see in me, rather than always bracing for rejection.

Me: See you after the game. I’ll be the one in the stands cheering embarrassingly loud.

Declan: I’m counting on it, twinkle toes. Save your strength for celebrating later. I have a good feeling about tonight.

I press my phone to my chest, taking a deep breath. Five days on the road with Declan and the team. Five days of being seen, of stepping cautiously into the light after years in the shadows.

It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. And for the first time in a very long time, I’m ready to embrace it all. Whatever comes next.

My fingers trace the burgundy polish on my nails. This is really happening. One small, brave step toward believing I deserve both the spotlight and the love that comes with it.