Chapter Text
Hera Syndulla walked with purpose down the tunnel of the practice facility, the dull thud of her skates on the rubber mat echoing around her. Laser focused on reaching the ice, her gaze never strayed to the walls of the tunnel, decorated with pictures of past victories and retired players. She didn’t need the reminder that this was her family’s legacy, nor did she need her father’s eyes on her, looking down from a particularly joyous photograph of him with the Galactic Cup raised over his head in triumph.
The facility was quiet, the calm before the storm of training camp. Tomorrow, this building would be a flurry of activity. Players arriving back to their home away from home after a long summer. Coaching staff and analysts ready to answer for a lackluster previous season. And the media. Hera sighed heavily.
The media.
That was the part Hera dreaded. The misogynist sports reporters asking her different variations of the same question - What makes you think you can lead a team of men to victory? Hera would be offended if it wasn’t so damned predictable.
In her mind, there was nothing she needed to prove. Her resume spoke for itself; World Champion twice on her university team, three times winning the Cup over her decade in the Professional Women’s Hockey League, and an Olympic gold medal. Apparently none of that mattered since she didn’t have a dick swinging between her legs.
Coming back to the Lothal Wolves was like coming home. After all, she spent her childhood in this facility and the arena. Her father was one of the greats and played for Lothal his entire career, rare for a hockey player but gave stability to their family. When the call came from the General Manager with a job offer, Hera couldn’t pass it up. The Wolves were at the very bottom, coming out of last season with the worst record in the league and missing the playoffs the last three years. Hera wanted, no she needed to see this hockey club succeed again.
She stepped out on to the ice and breathed out a sigh of relief. No matter what happens tomorrow, Hera knew this was where she belonged. Skating a slow circle to warm up her legs, it felt good to be on this ice again. She learned how to skate on this ice, how to play hockey on this ice, how to sink a puck from the blue line and light up the cherry.
With a wide smile on her face, Hera took off, the blades of her skates cutting a path through the ice at her full speed. Lap after lap, from end to end of the ice, Hera pushed herself until her lungs burned, then pushed herself just a little bit harder. Coming to a stop, Hera interlocked her fingers and rested her hands on her head, breathing deeply in through the nose, out through the mouth, to slow her heart rate.
From behind her, the sound of a single pair of hands clapping startled her, causing Hera to whip around, trying to find the source.
“Mr. Organa!” she said, startled, her eyes finding the owner of the Lothal Wolves standing at the bench.
Bail Organa was a polished man, always wearing crisp suits in lighter colors to complement his darker complexion. Hera had known him almost her entire life. The Wolves had been his family’s business and when her father played, Mr. Organa was the GM. A few years ago, his father finally retired and handed over the reins.
“Hera, I am not going to ask again, please call me Bail,” he said with a soft chuckle. This was a request he made often, but Hera supposed, if they were going to be more or less colleagues maybe she could give it a try.
“Okay, Bail,” Hera responded slowly, testing out the name. “How did you find me?”
“The night before your big day? There is only one place you’d be,” Bail answered with a kind smile. When this man smiled at you, it was like you were the chosen one for that brief moment.
Hera looked down to the ice with a smile. “You know me well.”
“I do,” he agreed. Sometimes Hera thought he knew her better than her father ever could. “And I don’t think I have ever seen you nervous, Hera.”
She slid her feet back and forth, the skates making soft scratching sounds. Then raised her gaze to meet his. “I want this so much.” Maybe even more than the gold medal and championships, Hera didn’t add out loud.
But the truth was Hera had never wanted anything more. Winning with this team would show everyone that she was just as good, maybe even better, than her father. Just as good as the men. She came to a stop, standing tall, her hands on her hips.
“And I can do it,” Hera said with a confident smile.
Bail placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know you can.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “So go home, Hera. Rest. Probably the last time you’ll get a good night’s sleep until the season ends.”
Hera let out a loud chuckle. “Yeah right, you think I’m actually going to sleep tonight?”
Bail laughed with her. “Fair enough. But at least go home and pretend. For me?”
Nodding, Hera gave him a wave. “Alright. If you insist.”
“See you tomorrow,” Bail said.
Hera watched him leave before turning and skating towards the tunnel entrance, determined to listen to Bail.
Hera walked into the practice facility. She had an office at the arena for game days, but this is where her main base of operation would be. Swiping her badge at the front door, she didn’t get very far before the onslaught of her busy day began.
“Syndulla.” A reedy yet masculine voice called across the lobby of the building.
Hera rolled her eyes before turning around to face the General Manager of the Lothal Wolves. “Good morning, Thrawn.”
Thrawn was already a massive pain in her side and she had no idea why Bail hired him. He was cocky, arrogant, and not in the charming way that most hockey players were. No this man was a ruthless businessman, coming to the Wolves with no background in hockey. While that wasn’t unusual for a GM, it wasn’t very common. Hera wasn’t even sure he liked hockey.
“Prepared for today?” His words were clipped as he looked down his nose at her.
“Of course,” Hera answered.
Thrawn looked down at his buzzing phone. “Good. You wouldn’t want the media to think you got this job purely because of who your father is.”
Barely able to contain her rage at the douche standing in front of her, Hera offered a tight smile. “Believe me, after they see me behind the bench, no one will be questioning whether or not I belong. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get settled into my office before media day and our first practice.”
Without waiting for a response, Hera turned on her heel and walked toward the elevators. After a quick ride up to the fourth floor, Hera walked into her office. It was a beautiful space, even without the personal touches Hera had yet to bring in. Her favorite part, however, was the wall to wall window that overlooked the practice rink. It was perfect. She could already see a few of her players skating slowly on the ice, probably warming up, which brought a smile to her face.
Sliding into her desk chair, Hera pulled up the player rosters her assistant had sent to her email for probably the thousandth time. She had been studying them all summer in preparation for today. There was something off with this team. They didn’t gel like a team should, they didn’t seem to care about each other, and they definitely didn’t seem to care if they won or lost. Pausing on the profile that of the team’s captain, Hera stared down at the picture of Kanan Jarrus.
He was an attractive man, auburn hair pulled loosely back into a bun, clean shaven with the exception of a short neatly trimmed goatee on his chin. 6’2”, under 200 pounds, and an impressive 75 points last season with 25 goals, Jarrus was an all star defenseman, even at the halfway point of his career. And yet, he hadn’t won anything in years.
A single knock sounded on her partially open door bringing Hera back out of her thoughts.
“Come in.” Hera turned to face the door to see the head of PR standing in the doorway. She smiled, grateful for a familiar face. “Hey Sabine.”
Sabine Wren shut the office door behind her before closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around Hera in a hug. They had known each other for years, as close as sisters. Not only that, but Sabine was the absolute best at what she did. She had already been working for the Wolves for the past four seasons. Hera stepped out of the embrace and gave her a wide smile.
“How’s your first day so far?” Sabine asked, sitting down in one of the leather chairs across from Hera’s desk.
Hera settled into her desk chair. “Already packed to the brim.”
Sabine chuckled. “Yeah. Media day and first day of training camp is the worst idea.”
Hera nodded, agreeing. “Hard to focus on either one.” She shifted back in her seat. “So, give me the inside scoop on this team. Who gives you a headache? Who keeps you up at night? Who do you have to keep a chaperone on at all times?”
“Jarrus. Jarrus. And, oh yeah, Jarrus.” Sabine laughed.
Hera arched her brows. “And yet he’s the captain.”
Sabine nodded. “He’s the best I’ve ever seen. On the ice, he’s unstoppable. Off the ice,” she shrugged, “he’s running away from something. No one parties that hard or that consistently just to have a good time.”
Hera thought for a moment, weighing her words. “I want this team to be known for how they play the game, not what they do in their free time. I want this team to be role models for the community, bring families back to the rink, and no one is going to want to bring their kids around a team whose captain is photographed every other night shit faced.”
“Hey! You’re preaching to the choir here,” Sabine said, holding her hands out in surrender. “I’ve been telling Jarrus that since I got here. The PR team before me? Quit because of him. Told me good luck on their way out.”
“Is he really worth all this hassle? I mean he’s certainly not bringing any Cups to Lothal.”
“Your assistant coach will tell you he’s worth it. The team will tell you he’s worth it. He might be trouble off ice, but he’s the kind of guy you want on your side. And he’s definitely not the kind of guy you want to face off against. It’s a real devil you know situation.”
Hera hummed in thought. He couldn’t be all that bad to have stayed with the team for this long.
Sabine let out sigh when her phone beeped with an incoming message. Looking down at it, she read the message then looked back up at Hera. “Well, gotta go. Have a meeting with my team in ten. But lunch chat tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Hera answered with a smile.
“Good luck with the media vultures. Play nice with them and then we will put together a highlight reel of you for our social media.”
Hera laughed, appreciating Sabine’s loyalty. As Sabine left, Hera glanced at her calendar. First day of training camp was supposed to start in about fifteen minutes. So she had some time. Before she could talk herself out of it, Hera typed in Kanan Jarrus into her internet search browser on the premise that she needed to know what reputation her team had.
What appeared on her screen was picture after picture of her captain, her star defenseman doing body shots off models, stumbling out of nightclubs in every city they played in, and a parade of different women hanging off his arms, never the same one. The interesting part of the photos was that while Jarrus was always surrounded by his teammates when entering the nightclubs, it appeared they all left before him. Not a single picture captured by paparazzi had his teammates with him as he left at last call.
“Maybe I can use that,” Hera murmured to herself.
If his teammates were leaving him alone during their nights out, she could only assume he partied too hard for the rest of them. Especially during the season. While his teammates definitely enjoyed a night out, they appeared to have self control, keeping their diet and alcohol intake in check when they needed to perform on the ice. Jarrus either didn’t have the self control or didn’t want to.
Maybe Sabine was right. Maybe Kanan Jarrus, highest paid defenseman in the league, was running from something. And if she wanted to bring the Lothal Wolves back to their former glory, Hera knew the answer lay in him.
Hera walked down the tunnel, the nerves she felt yesterday as she did this, no where to be found. That was the thing with Hera. She would overanalyze and overthink everything to death, but the second it was time to perform, all Hera knew how to do was be confident and self-assured. The tunnel opened up to the ice and Hera came to a stop at the boards, arms crossed tightly across her chest, the Lothal Wolves jacket with her name across the back and the words Coach stitched above her breast keeping her warm. She had forgotten how cold it could get down at ice level when there were no spectators.
Looking out at the practice ice gave Hera a sharp pinch in her chest. Before she was old enough to skate, she used to sit in those seats with her mom, watching her father and his team mates practice. Hera allowed herself one more minute to reminisce, then focused her attention back on the players currently starting to gather on the ice.
Her assistant coach, Garazeb “Zeb” Orrelios walked up beside her. He was a tall and imposing man, even more so on skates. “Mornin’ Coach.”
“Good morning. How many of them do you think kept up with their conditioning over the summer?” Hera asked with a chuckle.
Zeb had been with the team for years and if he had any negative feelings over getting passed over for the job in favor of her, he never once showed it. They met over the summer, strategizing and planning over beers and crappy bar food. She really liked him and his no nonsense approach to everything.
With a dark chuckle, Zeb answered, “Maybe the rookies.”
“Great,” Hera muttered. She looked out at the ice, taking in the thirty guys skating around. None of them wore their helmets or even gloves, apparently assuming this would be a warm up practice. “Get their attention, will ya?”
“Huddle up!” Zeb shouted, after blowing his whistle loudly.
The men all settled in a half circle around the bench, some moving their feet back and forth in place, some taking a knee, and one, with a capital C stitched on the chest of his practice jersey, casually crossed his arms across his chest. His stance was relaxed, like he was preparing to play in a beer league game, not a professional preparing for a new season in the GHL. It was infuriating.
Lost in her thoughts, Hera didn’t realize she had been staring. Not until the captain caught her gaze and winked at her.
Winked.
At her.
His boss.
Hera rolled her eyes and scowled, shoving her hands in the pockets of her black joggers, as she walked forward toward the bench. She caught the eye of Zeb, who gave her a quick nod.
Zeb moved to the side, crossing his big, beefy arms across his chest, his clipboard digging into one forearm. “Alright, boys. Listen up and show some respect for our new Head Coach.”
Hera stepped to the center of the bench, standing tall. She might be formidable on the ice, but she didn’t need to start out looking up at all of these men who had at least a foot on her in their skates.
“Good morning. I’m Hera Syndulla and as Coach Orrelios said, I’m the new Head Coach.” Hera made sure to make eye contact with each player on the ice. Ten of these men wouldn’t make the cut for the roster when the regular season started, but it was important for all of them to hear from her. “Now I know you all recognize my name. My father played his entire career for this team so I don’t have to tell you how much the Wolves mean to me. I want to see this team at the top of the league again, where they belong. And I won’t rest until we get that Cup.”
A collection of stick taps echoed through the arena.
“Over the next few weeks of training camp, Zeb and I will need your utter devotion to this team. I want you all to eat, breathe, and sleep Wolves. We will not get to the top playing like a bunch of men who just met each other. We need to get out on that ice every day as extensions of each other. Eat your meals together, go out on days off together, you get the idea. I believe in all of you. So believe in each other.”
Hera took a deep breath. “How many of you actually stuck to a workout routine over the summer?” A few hands went up, but most looked sheepish. “Doesn’t sound like a team that wants the Cup,” she muttered. Then louder, “Well, today we start from scratch. Go line up on the goal line.”
She watched as the players shuffle skated to the goal line with a smirk on her face. “I hope you’re warmed up. Suicides. Let’s go.”
Hera had them running drills all morning; conditioning drills, shooting drills, defensive drills. After only a few hours with them, Hera knew she had her work cut out for her. “Bring it in!” Hera called out to them.
They circled up around her and these guys did not look like a professional hockey team; hands on their knees, doubled over trying to catch their breath, some even had vomit on their practice jerseys.
“You all are better than this!” Zeb barked at the players in a drawling cadence that often had his detractors underestimating him. “You end up at the bottom last season, loose yer coach, and ya’ll think that’s an excuse to slack off?”
Hera watched with interest as he scolded the team, each player looking appropriately shamed.
Except one. Captain Kanan Jarrus.
He held his stick upside down, the handle pressed into the ice, resting his hands on the blade, as he listened to Zeb. Hera watched as he tugged off one glove then ran his hand through his sweaty hair, the damp tendrils curling around his ears and hanging right above his shoulders. He stood a little off to the side. Where most of the other players gathered themselves in groups of two or three, Kanan seemed to self isolate. Fascinating.
“I’m not going to stand up here and lie to you. This was not a great start, boys. But it is also the best start since we can only go up from here. Now, go hit the bikes, flush out your legs, go see the PTs if you need, then grab lunch. We’re reviewing game tape at two. Don’t be late,” she dismissed them.
The players filed past her, skates thudding heavily on the rubber mats that led to the locker room. Each one gave her a slight nod or a polite “Coach” as they passed.
All except for Kanan.
He stopped walking when he made it to her side. Goddess, he’s tall, Hera thought. Even without the extra inches the skates gave him, she knew he would tower over her. From this close, Hera could see his bloodshot eyes and each droplet of sweat clinging to his scraggly stubble, clearly not a fashion choice and just a sign of laziness.
“A pleasure to meet you, Coach Syndulla.”
His voice was a deep baritone, but husky, like he either spent too much time drinking strong liquor, smoking cigars, or both. Which was odd, Hera mused, considering he was a professional athlete.
Hera arched an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms across her chest. She had no intention of humoring this man, even if he had eyes the color of the ocean, warm and inviting.
“Kanan,” he said, running his hand through his damp hair once again. “Jarrus. I am a huge fan of your dad’s. Do you think he is going to be stopping by to catch some games, ever?”
Internally, Hera rolled her eyes. It always comes back to my father. “I don’t know. He’s not really one for the spotlight anymore, since retiring.”
Kanan offered her what she assumed he thought was a charming grin but just came off as smarmy. “Ah, I guess I’ll just have to settle for getting to know the more beautiful Syndulla.”
At that, Hera openly rolled her eyes and scoffed at him. “In the future, it would be wise to think before you speak to your Coach. You wouldn’t want her to think you were trying to curry favor through these poor attempts at flirting, would you? Now, I’m pretty sure I told you all to hit the bikes.”
Kanan at least had the decency to look properly chastised, but as he dipped his head to offer her a goodbye, Hera noticed a slight twinkle in his eye, like he enjoyed the verbal paring. She scoffed to herself, but still watched him walk away.
Zeb shook his head as he walked over to where Hera stood. “I’m sure that wasn’t exactly what you were expecting on day one.”
“No, not really.”
Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, Zeb answered, “Don’t worry, Coach. It’s about what I expect on the first day of a long summer. They were like this last year, too.”
Hera let out a disbelieving chuckle. “So they’re not used to having any expectations placed on them?”
“Now ya know why the old coach was fired.”
Nodding, Hera looked out over the ice. “Well that changes today.”
Zeb gave her an appraising look. “If anyone can do it, it’s you, ‘Era.”
“So Zeb.” Hera jerked her head towards the tunnel, indicating they could walk and talk. “What is the deal with Jarrus? He seems to have a bit of an attitude problem,” she said as he followed her down the tunnel.
Zeb let out a deep sigh, like he was expecting the question but was also trying to avoid it. “He’s been with the team almost a decade now. Hell of a defenseman. Led the league in hits and points for a defenseman. But his off ice behavior is,” Zeb paused, “problematic.”
“Like I need the PR department ready at a moment’s notice to issue statements about the trouble he is getting into or he’s going to get suspended from the team for code of conduct violations?”
He dragged one huge hand down his face and groaned. “Maybe a little of both?”
“Great,” Hera muttered. “Well, go grab lunch. Take a break. See you in a bit.”
With a slight tip of his head, Zeb left down the tunnel. Hera looked out over the ice, hands on her hips. This was an absolute pinch me moment for her. While she knew she deserved to be there, Hera still couldn’t believe this was actually happening. It was the culmination of everything she had worked for her entire life and to be able to do it, right here for the Lothal Wolves, was an absolute dream come true. If only her father was as impressed with her.
“A worry for another day,” Hera muttered to herself.
She turned and walked back down the tunnel, already going over plays and drills they would do the next day. This was going to be Hera’s biggest challenge and she was more than ready for it.