Page 2 of Break the Ice

I barely contain my smile. “I start tomorrow. Eight a.m.”

“Oh… congratulations,” she says, her brows jumping. “It’s a great position. Ultimately, I decided it wasn’t for me. But I’m glad to hear Mr. Hawk has found a worthy replacement. I’ll make sure to have your office prepped for tomorrow.”

I thank her on my way out of the lobby.

The hall outside is decorated in decades worth of Seattle Wolves memorabilia. Numerous jerseys of star players and framed photographs of historic moments for the team line the walls. The entire hall is a tribute to the legendary team. I stop a few times along the way to admire a preserved newspaper headline about a championship win or to study the ever-evolving team logo over the years.

All things I’ve already memorized ad nauseam but can’t help myself from revisiting.

Sports have always been my thing—it doesn’t even matter what kind.

From the time I was a small girl, I sat on Dad’s knee and watched the Bulls play the Jazz where Michael Jordan made the clutch, landing his iconic shot not just to win the game but the 1998 finals. I was in the stands for the MMA fight where Cain Velasquez beat Brock Lesnar and proved technique outweighed size, with Velasquez making quick work of him.

And I’ve even watched, both on- and off-season, as the Seattle Wolves ran all the way off the rails the past few years. From the revolving doors of coaches and managers to a slew of foolish player trades, it’s been one disaster after the next.

That’s not even touching the chaos that’s the personal lives of most of the players—or how they’ve instigated drama with the fans and other teams over the years.

It’s… a lot.

A LOT.

But, as I stroll down the hall dedicated to the troubled team, I know it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ll rise to the occasion like I’ve done every other time in my life. Nothing and nobody’s ever going to stop me.

Not a hamstring injury. Not condescending assholes like Mr. Monotone. Not even the most disastrous team in the entire National Hockey League.

Certainly not what happened with David.

I started from the bottom once before. I’ll never go back again.

I wait until I’m in the parking garage coming up on my Audi to pull out my phone. The second Mom answers, I’m smiling wide.

“I got it.”

She shrieks. “I knew it! I knew my baby girl would! When do you start?”

“Tomorrow. 8 a.m. sharp in Mr. Hawk’s office for a breakdown of what kind of PR needs the team has.”

“You’re doing it, baby girl. You’re really doing it.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I can’t wait for my girl to turn things around and impress everybody! Just think, you’ll finally put those nasty rumors to rest.”

Mom goes on to brag about me in excruciating detail to more modest smiles from me. I slide into the driver’s seat and get myself situated, placing my purse in the seat next to me and putting Mom on speaker.

My phone dings with a message. I wouldn’t bother reading it if it didn’t show up on the digital screen of my dashboard. Sometimes I forget how quickly my Bluetooth syncs up.

It’s from Mr. Hawk. Mom’s words go in one ear and out the other as I read what he’s texted.

expect to see u at Prime Cut tonight. 11 pm. nightcap.

2. Rafe

“Nice home you and Phil’ve got.”

Tiffany casts me a dubious look, both of her brows raised. “Are you being serious right now?”

“What?” I say, shrugging. “I can’t compliment a man on his fat crib? What did this set him back? Five, six mil?”