“What’s his background?”
“He did operations management for big retailers, but that market is tough to get back in after four years away.”
“And you’re the one figuring it out.”
She shrugged. “Sam’s leaving for residency. They’ve been out of work for a while, so putting together a résumé…they wouldn’t know how. So yes, it falls on me.” Her voice wobbled to hint at the weight she was carrying—it was a sign of her strength. Hell, she was still upright.
It hit me low in the chest. Losing your retirement wasn’t only numbers; it was time, dignity, and years you told yourself you’d finally exhale. I’d seen athletes spin out when careers ended, but this was a different kind of collapse, and Mel was the net trying to catch the whole damn fall.
Silence settled between us, my gaze drifted to the window.
“If you need anything, say the word,” I said. “No one trains you for the start-over-from-scratch part.”
She didn’t say anything, but she glanced at me and gave me the faintest nod. That offer had found somewhere to land.
We landed in Alberta around noon. The sky had that northern clarity—bright and scattered with white cotton across a blue sheet. The sun carried a silver cast, the air hit colder and leaner than Sacramento, and even the traffic seemed to cut through it with clipped precision.
We hit the ice for light skates and stretches before the game.
That night, the Oilers claimed their home advantage and edged us out in a tight clash. The locker room afterward was hushed with frustration. I went through the postgame motions as the loss stuck to me like damp gear.
By Saturday afternoon, I’d run game films several times but nothing stuck. My head was full of stats, and I still had no strategy for tonight’s play.
I threw on a light jacket over my T-shirt and stepped outside. Taking a minute, I let the lean air fill my lungs.
The automatic hotel door closed behind me and reopened. I instinctively turned and caught Mel stepping out. She stopped when she saw me. Her hair was pulled half-back with a barrette, falling loosely around her shoulders. A slight hesitation passed before she joined me.
“You’re escaping,” she said, with a half grin.
I smiled. “That obvious?”
“Only obvious to a fellow fugitive.”
We ended up walking a few blocks to the riverfront, where the city gave way to sky and water. This calm was hard to find during the playoffs, and here I was, experiencing it with a beautiful woman. I wasn’t planning to miss a second of it.
Alberta had that postcard look with snow still clinging to the distant ridgelines, the air scented with pine and sunshine.
We discussed everything we saw.
“That house is a mix between charming and falling apart,” Mel said, pointing at a crooked porch on a side street.
“So, basically me,” I replied.
She laughed, and that sound spiked something in my chest, stretching the upcoming game into a distant blur. She wasn’t the woman who’d cried into my jacket and vanished into duty; she was the one who’d made me laugh out loud during that skating lesson. Her playful self was back.
“This park resembles so much of the one near the Tahoe West arena,” she said as we crossed toward a café.
“Do you go there often?”
“I used to, on weekends. I should probably start again.”
“What made you stop?”
She shrugged, eyes on the sidewalk. “Life. Schedule. You miss one weekend, then two, and suddenly it’s been a year.”
“Same here. I haven’t been to a park in ages for all the same reasons.”
“It’s a good spot for a walk or run. And the ice cream truck shows up to help you recover all your calories.”
