Chapter Text
“Simme, are you even listening to me?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Simon muttered distractedly, his fingers flying over his phone keyboard, words appearing in his notes app. “I just gotta write down this idea I had real quick.”
Ayub sighed. “We’re getting to the most interesting part now,” he complained. “And none of your ideas will help you if you don’t know who you’re working with.”
Simon held up his hand, got the last word down, hoped he would be able to decipher what he’d written with all the typos he’d made in his haste, then locked his screen and returned his attention to his friend. “Sorry,” he said. He had this ever-present fear that he would lose an idea if he didn’t write it down immediately.
Ayub took a deep breath and refreshed the slide on his laptop so Simon could appreciate the way the photo spun onto the screen. It was another player. He looked like a hockey player. They all did. Simon wasn’t sure why he was surprised. Learning their names would be hell. He should probably get his hands on a Bjärstad BK team poster and tack it to his bathroom wall. Not weird at all. He could study it while brushing his teeth.
With a press of Ayub’s finger a name appeared under the face of the guy with the light brown taper fade and beard of the same color. ‘Tyler Martin’ Simon read next to a Canadian flag. Contrary to some of his teammates, Tyler was smiling brightly at the camera. Looked like a happy guy. His front teeth were fake.
“Okay, so one of our two new star players,” Ayub said and switched to the next slide full of stats that still didn’t mean a lot to Simon. He hoped he would pick it up as he went. They would have to be lenient with him, wouldn’t they? They’d been aware that he knew very little about hockey when they’d hired him as their new social media guy. Had even claimed that exact fact made him perfect for the job since they were looking for a fresh perspective to attract a whole new audience. Simon hadn’t been sure how much of that had just been due to the fact that they’d been able to get him cheap because of his lack of actual working experience.
“Tyler Martin, Canadian, 29 years old, defense.” Ayub pressed a key and a video started playing.
Simon had trouble recognizing who he was supposed to be looking at. Hockey games were too fucking chaotic and fast for him still. Ayub kept telling him it would get better eventually, but so far Simon wasn’t very confident.
“High draft pick to Montreal eleven years ago. Got thrown right into the NHL when he should have stayed in the AHL for a bit to develop his skills.” Ayub shook his head regretfully. “Defensemen usually need a bit more time,” he explained. “So they got rid of him and he’s been traded around a few times. Last team were the Vancouver Canucks who barely let him play.” He scoffed. “But—our luck! His wife Josefin is Swedish and they had a kid two years ago which she wanted to raise over here, so he looked for a spot on a team. And found one.”
Simon tried to commit those facts to memory as he stared at Tyler’s face that had appeared on the screen again. He didn’t look like a failed NHL star. They usually looked… more bitter, like someone had flicked off a light in their eyes.
Like the guy whose photo spiraled onto Ayub’s next slide. ‘Wilhelm Hellberg’ apparently. He was staring straight ahead into the camera, his jaw clenched, gaze dull. His hair was held off his forehead with a headband and reached to just below his chin in the back. He did not look like a happy guy. If anything, he looked like a guy who desperately needed a hug. But then again, images could be deceiving. If Ayub was to be believed, most of the guys were really nice, even the ones who had chosen a death glare for their official portraits.
“This is who we’re most proud of,” Ayub said as if hiring Wilhelm Hellberg had been his personal decision. Simon doubted that anyone asked the mascot’s opinion on who to sign, no matter how beloved Ping the penguin was among fans and the entire team.
“Wilhelm Hellberg, 25, center. Another NHL return.” Return sounded so much nicer than failure. Simon had heard way too many brutal stories since he’d started his research. It seemed that there were disproportionately more ways to not make it in the world’s best hockey league than actual success stories.
“Wilhelm was a star in his junior career, brought us the World Juniors eight years ago. We had high hopes when he got drafted, but unfortunately, he also ended up in Montreal. He and Tyler played together for his first season actually.”
Ayub pressed a key and again Simon was looking at a highlight video of what he assumed was Wilhelm Hellberg among others. “They put so much pressure on the poor guy and expected him to singlehandedly get them the Stanley Cup,” Ayub continued. “Which obviously didn’t happen. After a couple of unsuccessful seasons, fans and the media began to seriously turn on him and, my guess is, he was just fed up with it. Although he didn’t publicly cite a reason as to why he decided to relocate to Sweden.”
Simon studied sad guy’s face. People shouldn’t look this… broken at 25. But again, he might’ve just been making shit up in his mind. Maybe Wilhelm Hellberg just hated having his picture taken.
“It’s possible he’s just following in his brother’s footsteps again,” Ayub said and another photo appeared.
Simon’s head started to hurt. They all looked the same at this point. This one was blond, potentially dyed, and handsome, and seemed like the kind of man who was very aware of that. There was something… punchable about his face. Simon blinked, a little surprised at his slightly violent thought. This sport was already rubbing off on him it seemed.
“You might have heard of Erik Hellberg when he returned from the NHL to sign with the Växjö Lakers three years ago and then leading them to the Le Mat Trophy. He never really took off in the NHL either. But he got lucky with Vegas. Even though he was only a fringe winger who was in and out of the lineup, he scored the goal that got them the Stanley Cup six years ago.”
Fringe winger meant offense player who wasn't always in the line-up for the NHL team, so not getting a lot of ice time, Simon repeated to himself. He was getting there with the lingo. It would be fine.
“Erik suffered a knee injury that required surgery and he missed the second half of the season,” Ayub said. “His contract was up and obviously didn’t get extended.”
Obviously.
“Nobody wants an aging fourth liner with a fucked-up knee over there.”
Of course not.
“But Växjö did and look where it got them.” Ayub pressed the space key again and a picture appeared of two hockey players wearing different jerseys, jostling each other against the boards.
“The Hellberg brothers have only faced each other once in the NHL. Apparently they hate each other, so everyone is really looking forward to those Bjärstad Växjö games.”
“Because…?”
“Because duh!” Ayub looked at Simon with a hint of exasperation. “Ideally those games will be extra charged because of it. They might even start fighting each other if we’re lucky.” He grinned.
“Isn’t that against the rules?”
Ayub shrugged. “Yeah. But maybe their years of overseas experience will come through in the heat of the moment. Either way, it’s gonna be great!”
“Ah,” Simon replied. Personally, he really didn’t get the fascination with the fighting that was an inherent part of the game in the NHL. Not even a little bit. But he knew lots of people loved it and some were even sad that the European rules were so much more civil.
“Okay!” Ayub clapped his hands together. “That was the team. Want me to walk you through the last hockey season?”
Simon groaned and dropped his forehead down onto his knees. “I don’t think I can take in any more,” he mumbled against his jeans. It had been two hours already. His mind was spinning, his ears were uncomfortably hot and when he closed his eyes he saw hockey hunks staring him down.
“But… my presentation isn’t finished,” Ayub protested. “There’s like… Forty-five slides left.”
“Forty-five?” Simon gaped at him in shock. “How long were you intending on keeping me here?”
“As long as it takes,” Ayub said sternly. “My ass is on the line here as well.”
“No it isn’t. Stop being dramatic.”
Ayub rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I recommended you, so I feel like it’s my responsibility to a certain extent to make sure you don’t fuck up.”
“I won’t fuck up.” He wouldn’t. He knew what he was doing.
“Well, you better not.” Ayub tapped a finger against his lip. “You know what? I’ll get you a RedBull and we’ll order some pizza. Take a little break. And then I’ll show you twenty more slides.”
“Ten!”
“Fifteen.”
“Twelve.”
Ayub sighed. “Fine. We can do the rest tomorrow then.”
***
Simon was considerably more nervous than he would have cared to admit when he got out of his car in the parking lot of Bjärstad BK’s hockey training facility. He grabbed his backpack, slung it over his shoulder and, after releasing a deep breath into the cloudy morning sky, steered towards the entrance. He found the PR office without any trouble and, following the curt ‘come in’, entered.
Kjell, big, broad-shouldered, in his late fifties and a Bjärstad veteran, reached a hand across his desk. Simon’s entire hand vanished in his giant paw. “Welcome to the team, Simon,” the head of PR said, gesturing towards the chair. “Please take a seat, while we’re waiting for Amanda.”
Simon smiled and nodded, accepted a cup of coffee, and exchanged a few pleasantries with Kjell while they waited for the second half of the newly formed social media team to arrive. In his interviews Simon had gotten to know Kjell as a person with a slightly rough exterior but a kind soul, who lived and breathed hockey. In his free time, he hosted a (poorly executed) weekly podcast. Unfortunately, that was where his rudimentary knowledge of things he coquettishly called ‘the interweb’ ended. Which was why Simon and Amanda had been hired, to finally get Bjärstad BK on ‘the interweb’. Apart from signing two ex-NHL players, the new social media team was crucial to the new investor’s plan for making Bjärstad BK appeal to a wider audience.
Sitting still was torture in Simon’s current state and it took everything in him to not wiggle his leg. He was dying to finally get started, hoping that diving into work would calm his nerves. There was another knock and a moment later, a head of long blond hair poked through the door.
“Hi,” Amanda said, fully stepping into the room, and shaking first Kjell’s then Simon’s hand. She was a good head shorter than Simon and very pretty. Her makeup was glowy and immaculate, and Simon realized that her long fake nails were adorned with Bjärstad’s logo. She was wearing the blue team jersey like a mini dress with high top sneakers, managing to make the whole outfit look cute and stylish. Simon self-consciously smoothed down the front of his black dress shirt and skeptically glanced at his jeans. It was a nice outfit, but he wondered if he should have dressed on theme as well.
Contrary to Simon, Amanda did have some work experience, having interned with Djurgården’s social media team for a while. They’d met on a zoom call a few days ago and she had seemed very competent, well organized, with a sense of humor, and the ideas they’d discussed had been going in a similar direction. He felt good about getting to work with her.
“These are for you,” Kjell said and pushed a stack of four iPhone boxes across his table. “Two for each of you, so you always have a charged one. Will that be enough?”
Glancing at Amanda, Simon saw the corner of her mouth twitch. “That should do,” she said with a smile and nudged two boxes towards Simon.
Simon for his part would have appreciated a work phone that would’ve been ready to use so he could’ve actually started to work. Instead, setting up even one of these would probably take the better part of the morning.
Kjell handed them each an envelope containing SIM cards and logins for the team’s grossly neglected social media accounts, then sent them on their way.
“I thought he was going to introduce us to the team,” Amanda said out in the hallway, balancing her two boxes and the envelope.
“Yeah, me too,” Simon said as he counted the doors they were passing until they reached the one that Kjell had told them would be their office.
It was tiny. Inside were two desks, pushed together in the middle of the room, two chairs that looked like they had seen better days, faded hockey posters on the walls, and a tiny window near the ceiling, barely letting in any light.
Amanda sighed. “Good thing we won’t have to spend much time in here,” she said.
Carefully, Simon set the two phone boxes down. Professionally, he was excited that the team had apparently decided to splurge and gotten them the newest version with the high-end camera. Filming and editing with these phones would be a true joy. Privately, he was terrified that he would be having to handle that thing on or next to an ice rink surrounded by concrete and sharp blades everywhere and it seemed highly likely that his work phones would sooner rather than later end up looking like his private ones always did—with chipped edges and a cracked screen.
Amanda moved one of her phone boxes back and forth between her hands. “Are we just supposed to go out there and, like, start filming them? Has anybody told them about our strategy?”
Simon shrugged. “I assume?” He wasn’t sure though. They had of course pitched their ideas to Kjell, but he hadn’t gotten the impression that it had meant anything to their new boss. So it seemed unlikely that he’d been able to pass anything on.
Amanda shook her head. “I made a presentation and everything.”
“I know,” Simon said. “I basically have a speech in my notes app.” He gnawed on the inside of his bottom lip. “How are we supposed to convince them to do silly little TikTok dances if they don’t know what our game plan is?”
“Maybe enough of them will think it’s fun and we can still explain when we’re asking.” Amanda tapped her nails against the desktop. “I mean, most of Djurgården’s guys were up for it. If you caught them at the right time. Not too early. Not at the end of the day. Not when they were hungry. Not when they’d lost a game. But most other times they would at least listen.”
Great. It seemed that they really had their work cut out for them. Convincing people to participate was Simon’s least favorite part in all of this. Give him people who were game and he could work his magic. And he didn’t know if hockey dudes fit into this latter category. To him they were still a foreign species at this point, the air of toxic masculinity wafting off them having effectively repelled Simon until now.
Then again, the situation wasn’t that different to the one he’d found himself in at the start of the social media campaign for Bjärstad’s waste management that had been his master’s thesis (and that had ended up getting him this job). He had chosen them exactly because of the challenge (and, frankly, because he had found the idea hilarious) and had come out of it having not only gained most of the employees’ trust but also having made Bjärstad’s garbage men (and one woman) go viral on TikTok all over the Nordics with their funny videos.
It took them the better part of an hour to set up their new phones. Amanda fixed her hair and reapplied her lip gloss and Simon felt self-conscious about his outfit choice again. “Should I have… dressed differently?” he asked, eyeing Amanda’s jersey
She gave him a once-over. “I mean, you don’t wanna look too cute, that might confuse the poor guys. So I think you’re good. Hold on,” she added and rummaged through her bag.
“You look cute,” Simon said.
“Yeah, but I’m a girl. They’re allowed to find me cute,” Amanda replied as she produced a team cap.
Simon rolled his eyes.
“Here, put this on,” Amanda said.
Simon didn’t tend to wear caps, so he hesitated for a moment. “How do I… make this look good?” he asked dubiously as he tried to position it on his head.
“Not like that!” Amanda laughed when he put it on backwards. “I said not cute.”
“Fine.” Simon turned it around. “Better?”
She nodded, satisfied. “Perfectly unthreatening on first glance. Distracts from your face a little.”
“What’s wrong with my face?”
Amanda pulled up her eyebrows.
Oh. Okay. So she thought he was too pretty. Simon was aware that people often considered him handsome, but it wasn’t something he ever really thought about all that much. He sensed a flicker of annoyance. Even though he was sure Amanda was mostly joking, it seemed way too plausible. Well, there was nothing he could or would do about his face now, so if this meant causing a bit of sexual confusion, then so be it. Not his problem.
They left their office and headed for the training rink. While setting up the phones, they’d agreed to spend today familiarizing themselves with filming the players on the ice and then potentially making a snappy little edit later. Simon’s heartbeat quickened as the air grew colder and through the open door at the end of the corridor the familiar sounds of skates skidding on ice and sticks colliding with vulcanized rubber grew louder.
And then he was standing on the side of the training rink, behind plexiglass, watching several men with sticks in their hands move across the ice at a speed that never seemed to stop surprising Simon when he saw it in real life.
Nobody paid any attention to them. After a moment, Amanda gestured over to where the coaches were standing. One of them was currently shouting instructions that Simon probably wouldn’t have been able to understand even if he would have been familiar with the expressions. “Let’s go introduce ourselves,” Amanda said and with sure steps strode ahead. Simon was grateful that she did not seem to contain a shred of shyness in her, allowing him to hide his a little better. He’d gotten better at pretending it didn’t exist, mostly by pretending to be someone else. Which was what he tried to do now: put on a different persona, Simon the social media guy, who knew what he was doing and wasn’t at all intimidated by a bunch of muscular men with sticks.
They shook hands with Carl, Bjärstad’s head coach, and his two assistants Joakim and Anton. All three men seemed friendly enough, if not too inclined to keep chatting after the introductions. Amanda asked them a few questions and received a few curt answers. When Simon asked whether they were in the loop about the social media strategy, he received vague noises that could either have meant they weren’t or they were but disapproved of them. His offer to answer any questions they might have was met with polite nods and smiles, then Joakim started shouting something again and Carl stepped up to the boards, which Simon took as a sign that their conversation was over for now.
Since he and Amanda didn’t want to interfere, they found a spot a little off to the side and played around with their cameras for a bit. It was way more difficult to stay on a single player than Simon had expected and he realized that it would probably require some serious practice. He also realized that he had underestimated just how cold it would be in the ice rink. His fingers were cold, as was his nose. He was grateful for the cap that at least contained some heat on his head. But he would have to start wearing more layers if he would be spending his days in here.
After a while it seemed as if the training session was coming to an end with more and more players leaving the ice.
“Come on,” Amanda said, “let’s stand over there and introduce ourselves as they pass us.”
Social media pro Simon Eriksson had absolutely no problem with that idea, so he followed her, squared his shoulders, straightened his cap and put on a confident but unthreatening smile. “Hi!” he said in unison with a bubbly “Hi!” from Amanda as the first two guys came walking towards them.
“We’re Simon and Amanda, your new social media team,” Simon said.
Both guys greeted them, nodded politely and kept walking. One after the other, the rest of the players passed them. A few even stopped to ask a question and seemed excited at the prospect of Bjärstad finally entering its social media era while others seemed indifferent. It didn’t escape Simon that each time those questions were directed at Amanda more than at him and in general, the guys took more and longer notice of her. Which he supposed would come in handy if it came to convincing them to do a bunch of ridiculous stuff soon.
The last two players to come towards them were Wilhelm Hellberg and Tyler Martin. Simon couldn’t tell if there was a certain vibe they were giving off or if it was Ayub’s fault, but he actually felt a tiny bit star-struck.
“Hey guys!” Tyler Martin said, beaming, and gave both of them an enthusiastic high five with his large hand.
Next to him, Wilhelm Hellberg barely moved his chin forward in a gesture faintly reminiscent of an acknowledging nod.
“It’s so great to meet our stars!” Amanda chirped and smiled brightly. “This is Simon, I’m Amanda and we’re the new social media task force.”
“Nice!” Tyler said. “There hasn’t been happening much on Bjärstad’s social, has there?” He pronounced the first syllable of ‘Bjärstad’ like ‘bear’.
“No there hasn’t,” Simon agreed. “There will be now. Hopefully.”
“Awesome!” Tyler shot him a wide grin.
Wilhelm muttered something that Simon didn’t quite get except for the ‘bullshit’ that was quite clear.
“Oh come on,” Tyler said, ramming his elbow into Wilhelm’s side. “Don’t be such a spoilsport.”
Wilhelm rolled his eyes, muttered, “I’m not, I’m a fucking professional,” and stalked off.
“Don’t mind him,” Tyler said. “He’ll come around,” he called, raising his voice so his teammate would hear him, then he winked at Simon and Amanda. “I can make him.”
Amanda laughed and Simon also felt his lips pull into a smile. Tyler was incredibly charming. Simon liked him.
“Have a great afternoon,” Tyler said, raised his stick in greeting, and followed Wilhelm.
“You too,” Simon and Amanda said in unison.
With the team gone, the rink had gone weirdly silent. The scent of cold sweat still lingered in the air and Simon became newly aware of his cold feet. The tip of Amanda’s nose looked a little red as well.
“That went okay overall, I think?” she said.
“Yes. Probably?” Simon shrugged.
Amanda nodded. “Yes, I think so.” She tapped her phone against her palm a few times as if lost in thought, then said, “Let’s find out if the videos we’ve taken are any good for a fun little edit.”
As Simon followed her to the exit, his gaze landed on her legs, more precisely on her tights. “How are you not cold?” he asked.
She laughed and pulled on the fabric. “These are fleece. They only look sheer. And I’m wearing thermal underwear and thick socks.”
“Good call,” Simon replied. “Because I for one can’t feel the lower half of my legs. Or my fingers. I wasn’t aware it would be quite this… cold. Which is stupid, I know.”
Amanda chuckled. “It’s not stupid. I was surprised at first as well. You’ll get used to it.”
Simon hoped so.