CHARLIE - FEB 6, 2026
Charlie really shouldn’t have been there.It was stupid, and ridiculous, and she was not either of those things. She was an all-star hockey player, predicted to help Team Canada take home the gold in this year’s Winter Olympics.
Soon-to-be Olympic gold medalists did not go to random bars in the middle of the night, and certainly not the night before a big scrimmage.
She just needed to relax. She could not play with the way she was feeling. Today’s practice made that clear.
Her father’s incessant yelling still echoed in her head.
“Lajoies do not play this way,” he’d said, slamming down the front page of the paper four years ago. Charlie could still feel those prickles of embarrassment that had flooded her.
It was humiliating.
While Team Canada had won the gold and she’d been there, she’d joined the celebrations in spirit only. She’d been benched. Not good enough to play that day. Charlie was too distracted, too sloppy.
When she was focused on the game, nothing else had mattered—but that year had been different.
She had a girlfriend.
It wasn’t the girlfriend that was the problem, at least not outright. It was the amount of time she wanted to be in her presence—or in the presence of something that wasn’t related to hockey. Every moment spent being in love with someone was a moment spent away from what actually mattered—the game.
Though her father hadn’t known, Charlie could tell that he had caught onto her cutting down on her extra practice times. That she spent less time at the rink that she normally would. She had thought it was natural; she was growing older and more independent but the newspaper laid out on the kitchen table reminded her that it was all a fantasy.
Charlie had already long accepted that athletes didn’t get to have fun. So what was she doing here in the middle of the night?
She tried not to think too much about it as she entered the bar. She had decided to leave the Team Canada ensemble at home, but she wore her signature all black and the team-provided fanny pack. It was obviously Canadian-made, but definitely not as flashy as the Team Canada stuff.
She made her way to the bar, determined to go with her original mission.
One drink. Just order one drink to try to relax, and then I can go to sleep for training tomorrow.
She walked past tables full of people, friends and lovers who seemed to be all celebrating something. Charlie turned to the TV, unsurprised to see sports coverage in Italian. She could hear chatter in Italian around her, locals tuning in to their sports analyses. She breathed a sigh of relief, hopeful she would not be recognized here.
“One glass of wine, please,” she asked the bartender. They nodded, turning back to present a wine glass in front of her.
“America?” they asked curiously in a slight accent.
“Canada,” Charlie corrected, smiling. Though some of herAmerican friends claimed that she had a distinct Canadian accent, she could not hear it—and her theory that she didn’t sound so different from them seemed to hold up whenever she travelled outside of North America.
“You’re not alone. There’s one more of you here,” the bartender continued, nodding their head towards a table where a woman sat staring at the screen. She had curly light brown hair that seemed to shine in the restaurant light and though Charlie only caught a side profile, she could tell that she was one of my most beautiful people there.
Charlie turned back to the bartender. “Not all Canadians know each other, y’know.” After years of strangers telling her that since she was from Canada, she must’ve known their friend from on the other side of the country, she felt she was in the right to be a bit defensive.
The bartender shrugged. “Maybe you can make a new friend, then.”
She grabbed her glass with athanksand leaned against the bar as she thought it over. Though it was probably not the best idea, she decided,fuck it.She was only in Italy once, and talking to an attractive stranger could be part of the relaxation she was aiming for.
Charlie walked over to the woman’s table and paused a few spaces away from where she sat.
“Is this seat taken?” she asked, pointing to the empty chair closest to her.
“Go ahead,” the woman said and Charlie sat down. The woman continued to watch the TV, and Charlie sipped a bit of her drink as she thought of what to say next.
“Do you speak Italian?” Charlie finally decided to ask.
She turned to her then. “No, I’m Canadian. I just appreciate all the camaraderie.” Charlie looked around the bar, and she could see what she meant. Seeing this many people passionate about their own community was particularly nice.
“I know,” Charlie said.
