I scanned the rink again, half listening to a support staff mention that the Colorado team had been in town since Friday. Not surprising. They had back-to-back games on our rink. But knowing they’d been here all weekend made the pressure feel tighter.
“Coach,” Brent called, skating to a stop beside me, grinning. “So...who’s the new brunette shadowing our staff?”
Colton was right behind him as if linked by the hips, helmet tucked under one arm. “Yeah, Coach?”
I kept my eyes on the rink. “That’s Melanie Boyd. New Player Development assistant.”
Brent let out a low whistle. “To watch us, huh?”
I nodded once. “Trial period.”
Colton’s grin widened. “That explains it.”
I glanced over toward where Mel stood then back to Colton. “Explains what?”
He held up both hands. “Just didn’t know the job description included giving Coach Murphy wrinkles. But if she’s here to shake things up, I’m all for it.” That was Colton, ready to rattle the status quo.
I turned back to the ice without answering and barked a cue for the next line change. They skated off grinning.
I wasn’t mad, not really. But this was playoff time, when the margin for error didn’t exist. Having someone new in the mix, someone I hadn’t vetted, whose rhythm I didn’t know, threw me.
Especially when that someone had eyes I hadn’t been able to forget.
No, I wasn’t mad. Just…aware.Right place. Wrong time.
And I didn’t like not knowing what came next.
My phone buzzed.
Maria:Let’s properly introduce Melanie to the team. Shoot me a good time.
Standard protocol. Same as we’d done for every new intern, scout, and trainer. But this felt different. I couldn’t put my finger on why.
I typed back:
Me:Right after skate wrap-up. They’ll be beat but not yet hungry. Best window you’ll get.
After the guys finished with drills, Maria joined Mel by the trainer, and the two of them walked toward me. Direct line of sight, my chance to catch what I’d missed earlier. Mel’s hair was pulled back in a game-day style with no frizz, light brown, soft in color. She looked more like she gave orders than took them, and something about that landed low in my gut.
Her dark pink blouse—raspberry, maybe—fit well, tracing the line of her shoulders before falling loose over slacks. Small heels, too. How the hell was she walking in those after that spill six weeks ago?
Then again, I wasn’t supposed to be noticing any of that.
But I was. And I hated how aware I was of it all.
We walked to the locker room. At the sight of the women, the chatters quieted down.
“Alright,” Maria called. “Quick second, guys.”
A few towels dropped, and hands froze with laces half-undone. The guys leaned back against their stalls, a wall of skates and towels that might read intimidating to a new hire.
“This is Melanie Boyd. She’s joined us as a Player Development assistant. She’ll be orienting through the postseason, traveling with the team on select trips.”
Mel gave a calm nod. “Nice to meet you all. Looking forward to working with you.”
Logan swept a towel around his shoulders. “Player development, huh? So if I eat one less donut and run one more drill,you’rethe one who claps for me?” He winked.
A few of the guys snorted.
