Thatwe had in common. I got to the coffee shop in a shitty mood, and when I’m in a bad mood about hockey, I don’t notice much.
But I noticedher.
All I wanted was a shot of caffeine before I meet my new coach and teammates. I’ve never been a morning person, and seven a.m. practices suck. And after my father decided to get up to see me off this morning, which included a twenty-minute lecture about how much I’ve screwed up his plans for me, my mood turned more sour.
So yeah, I was a dick cutting her in line like that. But if she hadn’t gotten my attention with those sexy-as-fuck eyes and pouty lips, I wouldn’t have teased her. She made me want to…pull her ponytail or something like I’m back in the first grade and haven’t figured out how to flirt with a girl.
I shake my head. I’m never going to see the brunette again anyway, so any more thoughts of her are meaningless. The wind kicks up before I’m halfway through the coffee shop parking lot. I’ve been in Minnesota six years and I’m still not used to the northern winters. I glance around, wondering if there’s a shortcut to the ice rink from here.
* * *
Savannah
I take this alley every morning to get from the coffee shop to the hockey arena. The faceless doorways and dumpsters creep me out, but the alley is usually empty, and the buildings buffer the wind.
With my coffee, bagged pastry, and purse in hand, I hustle toward the rink. My stomach is rumbling for my beignet breakfast. Eating beignets is something Daddy and I used to do together although Mama’s the one from the South. And while my father’s long gone, I’ve kept up the tradition, one of the many things I haven’t changed in my routine since he left.
I’m in my own head, and I don’t realize anyone else is around until a heavy arm wraps around me painfully. My coffee goes flying out of my hands and hits the pavement with a smack. I try to scream, but a hand covers my mouth immediately, and the vice-like grip around my torso forces me down until I’m on all fours on the ground.
“Give me your wallet, and I won’t hurt you,” a man’s nasally voice says to me, his heavy weight pressing on me so hard I can barely breathe. “And don’t you dare fucking scream, either, you hear me, little bitch?”
I flinch at the word and reach for my purse, the strap still wrapped around my wrist. My hands are shaking so much I can barely grab onto my wallet at the bottom of my purse. Before I can hand it over, the man holding me down grunts.
“What the fu—” he shouts just above my head before his hand leaves my mouth and his weight leaves my body.
I lift my head and twist to the left. A man is lying flat on his back next to me, and he’s unconscious. I scramble to my feet, only to get a head rush.
I’m halfway back to the ground when two strong hands gently catch me. “Easy,” a recognizable voice says softly. “Don’t rush it.”
I look up and into the eyes of a familiar and maddeningly gorgeous man. “You again?” I say to the line-cutter from the coffee shop. “Where did you come from?”
“I found a shortcut to work. You okay?” he asks me, his dark eyes filled with concern as he peruses me. “I don’t see any blood. Are you hurt?”
I wrestle out of his grasp and try to catch my breath. “I’m fine. Thank you for…” I look down at the unconscious man at our feet. “Doing that. Will he be okay?”
His expression turns hard. “He doesn’t deserve to be okay, but he will be. I knocked him on the back of the head to get him off of you.” He holds up his phone. “I’m calling the cops.”
* * *
While we wait for the police to arrive, I say, “I know you’re late for your new job. I’ll be fine once the police arrive.”
“I’m not going to leave you,” he begins.
“Don’t be silly,” I say, glancing up as the siren sounds get closer. “You’ve already done everything you could do. Please. I don’t want you to be later on my account.”
Two squad cars turn down the alley, stopping a few feet away from us. Three policemen exit the cars and rush over to us. Line-cutter and I are separated so we can give our statements, and the mugger is handcuffed and put in the back of one of the cars.
When I’m done with my statement, I wave good-bye to Line-cutter, who’s still in the middle of his statement. He calls out, asking me to wait, but I turn away and jog down the alleyway, not stopping until I safely get to work.
Chapter Two
I stand impatiently in the smallest, darkest office at the northeast corner of the hockey complex, four pairs of ice skates lying on the table in front of me. I know better than to rush through the sharpening process, though. I take my time with the machine, taking care not to cut myself. My hands are still shaky from the near-mugging I just went through, but being here helps. Working with the skates feels comforting and familiar this morning. I stop the sharpening machine and examine my work. The blades look so clean and razor-sharp I can make out the hint of brown and gold in my green eyes. I smile with satisfaction and put the guards on.
Grabbing all four pairs of skates by the laces, I leave the windowless back office for the rink. I walk down the long, dimly-lit hallway until I reach the end. I pull my coat on with one hand and step into the windy outdoors. I look out over the parking lot and see the rink twenty paces ahead of me. It’s freaking freezing, and I clutch at my coat with my free hand to keep it closed, cursing myself for not zipping up beforehand. Welcome to Minneapolis in winter.
I jog the last five yards and, skates still in my hand, use my shoulder to push open the wide double doors. Coach Craig’s not in here. Shit. That means he’s waiting on me, most likely outside my office, which I luckily locked so he can’t snoop. I run back outside and through the parking lot until I’m inside the heated building, and then I hustle down the hall to my office.
Coach Craig, arms crossed and glaring, is leaning against the wall, and I nod at him as I unlock my door and invite him inside.
