The shuttle idled outside Tahoe West quarters, half the roster already boarded. Equipment guys loaded the last of the gear cases into the luggage hold and clapped the door shut with a final, decisive snap. I climbed in, nodding to a few guys, and dropped into the row behind Sergei and Paxton. Then I pretended to scroll through my phone, but my real mission was to watch the reflection in the tinted window. And there she was.
Mel stepped out of the building, dragging her luggage. Her ponytail bounced, cardigan left open to flash a flat strip of abdomen—nothing flashy, yet my focus locked on like a heat-seeking missile. Her face looked perfectly put together, but I knew where to look for cracks.
She sat two rows up, opposite side, far enough to keep her distance. Maybe that was the plan. Her plan, anyway.
We hadn’t talked since Monday at the shipwreck skating lesson. That moment stuck, catchy, the kind of pop song you couldn’t get out of your head. Guess that’s what three years without a woman in my life would do, especially after holding her like that.
Maria mentioned Mel was shadowing admin this week, checking off that part of her orientation before flying again this Friday. That had created space, letting the dust settle. Maybe that helped her, but it sure as hell hadn’t done a thing for my equilibrium.
We were flying to Alberta on a win. Wednesday’s game had been clean passes and tighter rotations. Colton nailed a one-timer, Porter blocked most opponent breakaways, and the bench felt alive again. The Oilers would be salivating, ready to show us on their home ice.
We got to the charter. I was grateful to have decent leg room and to not deal with screaming babies. I boarded last, my usual routine, giving myself one final breath before being trapped in the flying locker room.
The guys were already half asleep, hiding behind noise-canceling headphones as I walked down the aisle. The spot behind Colton and Brent was taken by Mel, and the seat next to her was open.
She sat by the window, scrolling through her phone. Her ponytail swung when she looked up.
“Oh, hey,” she said.
“Hey, guess we’re seatmates,” I replied, trying to sound casual in this lottery-winning airline seat.
“Looks like it,” she murmured.
I dropped down beside her.
“Coach, you should get a glass of champagne.” Brent peeked back from his seat. “But nah, you’ve been dodging the booze circuit since forever.”
“I’m saving my liver for the Cup parade…and my charm for a first-class seatmate who is not you, McElligot.”
Mel and Colton laughed. Brent did too before hooking his earphones back on.
We didn’t talk again until the seatbelt sign chimed. Mel and I both reached for our belts at the same time in awkward elbow bumps.
“Sorry,” she murmured, arm pulling back.
“All good,” I said, my voice too damn soft for someone trying to keep his head away from cute assistants during the playoffs.
She buckled in, eyes back on her phone. I leaned back, stiff as a board, and stared straight ahead. I told myself not to look at her.
Ten minutes in, she pulled out her laptop and typed something into the search bar. Then she stared at it, as if the words themselves knocked the wind out of her. I shouldn’t look… Okay, maybe a quick scouting glance strictly for playoff strategy, obviously.
Jobs for sixty-four-year-olds near Sacramento.
She angled the screen away. A chortle, genuine and honest, slipped out of me. She glanced over, lips twitching as small amusement played out on her face. Then, with a sigh, she straightened the laptop again.
“You already know the worst of the story. I might as well commit.”
“Jobs for your parents?”
She nodded. “For my dad first. With that retirement fund collapse, they both need to work again.”
“That’s hard.” The simple truth didn’t fit the enormity of the situation.
“It is.” She paused, chewing on her lip. “Especially when he retired at sixty, thinking he’d made it, giving himself and Mom more time for hobbies, travel, beach walks, freaking endlesshappy hours, you know…all the cliché stuff that actually sounded good.”
I looked at her profile. “A plan worth retiring for.”
“Not anymore.” She shook her head. “Now it’s grocery stocker, shuttle driver...those jobs.”
