Someone whooped behind me, snapping the moment. I blinked, cheeks hot, and turned back to the ice. But inside, something had unfurled. I sank into my seat, pretending I hadn’t locked eyes with the man whose team I might be traveling with. The same man I’d accidentally plowed into with a bathroom door on my way out, the one I was definitely not supposed to be noticing (but absolutely was).
Chapter four
Sean
The win on Saturday against the Avalanche bought us some breathing room, but not much. One game didn’t win the playoffs. This was when everyone was focused, hellos were shorter, and there was less chirping in the locker room.
I liked it that way. This was the stretch where a team either sharpened into something damn near lethal or cracked under the weight of it.
I pushed through the glass doors of Tahoe West HQ, coffee in one hand, game notes tucked under my arm. In the lobby, staffand a few players trickled in. It had that Monday scent of coffee and floor polish.
Felix had summoned all department heads for an 8:30 short briefing.Let’s keep the postseason tight, his Sunday night email had said. Translation: No surprises, no sloppiness, and no press leaks (drama was for the ice, not the highlights).
I stepped off the elevator.
“Morning, Sean.”
I turned. Maria was coming toward me, and beside her was the woman from the restroom. Business casual, badge clipped at her waistband and swinging near her hip. She looked confident, a far cry from the flustered woman slipping out of the men’s room last week.
“Morning,” I said, keeping my tone even.
“Perfect timing,” Maria continued. “This is Melanie Boyd. She’s just joined us to assist with Player Development.”
I nodded at the newcomer. “Welcome.”
“Thanks.”
She met my gaze. Blue-green eyes, cool and almond-shaped, striking as hell. The type that could knock out what you were supposed to say next. She didn’t try to smile too wide; she held the moment like it was second nature.
But the prettiness didn’t sit quietly. It made you notice and left it up to you to do something about it.
“Orientation’s underway,” Maria went on. “She’s part of that new model we’re starting as liaison support during travel.”
Right.Thatmodel. A strategy to tighten team cohesion and track player metrics more closely while on the road. It’d made sense in theory, but at the time, I hadn’t thought much of it.
My jaw ticked once. I covered it with a sip of coffee.
“Glad to have you on board,” I said, nodding again.
But I didn’t love it. Not because she wasn’t qualified—Maria didn’t make sloppy hires—and not because I had anythingagainst trial positions. But we had barely started the damn playoffs. My job was to lock it down, not test-drive new staff, and one that was a walking distraction, no less.
Mel-Melanie gave a final smile and walked off with Maria.
I watched them go, long enough to remind myself:This is work.Still…late twenties, maybe not quite thirty? Was that my cutoff now? Hell if I knew. Age shouldn’t have mattered, but it stuck in my head anyway, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel that flicker from our first two encounters again. Maybe it was the memory of that bathroom door slamming into me or the calm way she looked at me a moment ago. Either way, I was aware of her. Very aware.
Seeing her Saturday, cheering, alone, I assumed…
No, not assumed.I hoped.
But this wasn’t that. She was part of the team now, technically reporting through Maria, but on the road, those lines blurred. I was the top of her chain out there, and that was a responsibility I couldn’t ignore.
I headed to practice right after the debrief.
Arms crossed, I watched drills unfold across the rink. The scrape of blades and echo of pucks usually reset my brain. But today, there was an extra layer to manage.
“Logan, reset and go again! Porter, watch your angle!” I called out.
During a break in drills, a flicker at the edge of my vision made me turn. Mel or Melanie—didn’t matter—stood on the sideline, talking with Rich, the head trainer. I needed to get used to seeing her here.
