Page 4 of Her Puck Daddies (Game On Daddies #2)

AVA

A s much as I was dying to leave Newark, I might’ve been even more eager to climb off that plane.

Only to end up on the floor like a clumsy mess.

Seriously? Couldn’t have been more humiliating if I tried.

And in front of the very men I was desperately trying to avoid?

If there was such a thing as the ground opening up and swallowing me whole, I’d be throwing coins in that imaginary fountain right about now.

There's not, though.

Neither is undoing a choice to marry someone too young or coming out of an unhealthy relationship unscathed. My title as the worst decision maker in the universe is secure, obviously. The only action I can take now is to move forward.

I glance over at the male flight attendant who’s been so relentlessly kind to me, his youthful features giving me solace even as I attempt to separate from him. “You really don’t have to escort me anywhere. I’m fine.”

“Call me Jeremy, hon. And yes, I do. You fainted dead away aboard my flight. It’s the least I can do.”

“But don’t you have another plane you have to get to or something more pressing?”

“Technically, I should be doing the final clean up with my fellow attendants, but that can wait. I want to make sure you get checked out first.”

That’s where he’s taking me?

“Oh, that’s unnecessary. Seriously. I don’t even feel woozy anymore.” That’s mostly true.

“Huh-uh, sorry. I’m getting you checked out, and that’s final.” Seems Jeremy here can be as stern as those three hockey players were.

Awesome.

I don’t want this, but I hate confrontations. That’s how I find myself being steered through another packed concourse to a section of seats outside a cream and pale blue room with a sign that says Employees Only .

“Cindy Lou,” Jeremy calls as he steps through the door.

He disappears for a couple of minutes, and I’m almost ready to get up and leave.

But just as I’m about to make my escape, he reappears, this time with another lady in a similar uniform.

Her hair is iron gray, though—she could be his mother if I didn’t know better.

“Here she is. The one who passed out.”

He turns to me and adds, “Cindy Lou’s semi-retired now, but in her former life, she was a registered nurse.”

“Don’t see any visible contusions, but those can appear later,” Cindy Lou says, her lips pursing beneath her horn-rimmed glasses. “Approximately how long were you out?”

“Seconds is all. And I feel normal now.”

“Any headache?”

“Not really.” Not much. It’s not any worse, anyway.

She doesn’t exactly have a poker face, and her scowl makes it clear she doesn’t buy my story.

She gestures for me to open my mouth, peering inside like she’s expecting to find something out of place, then has me take several deep inhales, probably to test my breathing.

I brace myself for her to push me to go to a nearby clinic for X-rays or some other unwanted test, something I definitely don’t want to do .

“I’m letting you go for now,” she says, “but if this happens again, you should see your primary care physician. How used to this altitude are you?”

“I’ve never been outside of Jersey before.”

She grimaces. “Your symptoms might not be related, but they might be. If you experience anything else out of the ordinary, seek medical care. In the meantime, make certain you’re staying hydrated, that you’re not skipping meals, and that you’re getting enough rest. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“You take care now,” Jeremy says with a kind smile as he hurries off, and it’s only once he’s gone that I realize that I probably should’ve thanked him. Too late for that now, though.

By the time I grab my bag, it hits me that my phone is still on airplane mode. As soon as I switch it back to normal, the screen lights up with so many missed calls and text messages, I literally cringe.

I tap on the newest text first.

Cecille: The airport is reporting that your plane landed on time, but I don’t see you anywhere. I’m still at the Jeppesen Terminal on the east side. Call me as soon as you get this, please.

My heart jumps into my throat, and I quickly type out a brief reply.

Ava: I’m here, and I’m sorry. Had a small mishap, but I’m on my way .

I hit send and begin chanting under my breath, “Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave.”

Cool, totally normal behavior for someone definitely not on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The last thing I want is to look like a mess before I even make it out of Denver International Airport. Or, you know, any more of a mess than I already do.

Jeez, this place is massive. Levels on top of levels, gates stretching as far as the eye can see, and enough moving walkways to host an Olympic speed-walking event.

I ride people movers like I’m on some endless conveyor belt to nowhere, dodging gridlocked crowds and muttering apologies as I squeeze through gaps that probably aren’t meant for human bodies.

A glance at Cecille’s backlog of messages sends a cold wave of fear crashing straight into my solar plexus.

She's been trying to reach me for over an hour. I had no idea it’s been that long since I landed.

My palms turn clammy, and I swear I can feel my heart doing jumping jacks in my chest. What if she gets fed up and just leaves me here?

What if the organization decides pulling some woman from Jersey is too much hassle?

What if they fire me before I even set foot in the arena?

I take a deep breath, straightening my shoulders like that alone will stop the downward spiral. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. This is just a little logistical hiccup—nothing Cecille hasn’t dealt with before, right?

Unless...

Unless I’m officially about to become the first person in history to get cut from a job they haven’t technically started.

Ugh!

By the time I reach the exit and step outside, the crisp air slaps me in the face—but not in a fun, wake-you-up way. More like a congratulations, you might pass out again kind of way.

I double over, hands gripping my knees, breathing through the dizziness.

“Whoa, take it easy,” a high-pitched voice chimes.

I peek up to see a tiny Asian woman stepping out of an absolute monster of an SUV. She barely comes up to my shoulder, but the way she moves—efficient, no-nonsense—tells me she could probably bench-press my luggage.

“Ava? ”

“Yes,” I manage to strangle out as the world shifts into a more reasonable configuration. “The air here is so dry it makes my lungs feel like they’re shrinking.”

“It’s the elevation. Takes some getting used to.” She plucks my bag from my grip before I even think to resist. “You all right?”

“I passed out on the plane,” I admit. “But I don’t think the altitude was the cause.”

She gives me a slow once-over, like she’s calculating the probability of me face-planting again. “Can you walk?”

“I…” I straighten, testing my balance. “I think so.”

“Good enough. Come on, then. I’m Cecille, in case you haven’t guessed.”

Cecille tosses me a close-lipped grin, her lip gloss the same vibrant red as a warning light.

A delicate silver charm bracelet jingles as she moves, a stark contrast to the way she hauls my bag into the SUV like it weighs nothing.

Despite her sharp, angular features, there’s a warmth in her voice when she adds, “Once you adjust, you’ll love it here. ”

“Did you have to adjust? ”

“Nope. Born and raised.” She slams the trunk shut with a casual flick of her wrist. “Let’s get you over to the arena. Everyone’s excited to meet you.”

The drive to Ball Arena is short, the city passing in a blur of towering glass buildings and distant, snow-capped mountains. It’s surreal, stepping out of the car and into the cavernous entrance of the arena—where, apparently, my new life is supposed to start.

Inside, Cecille moves fast, introducing me to a whirlwind of people.

First, there’s Barb, the team publicist—an older woman with perfectly styled snow-white hair and a steely gaze that says she takes exactly zero nonsense.

Then there’s Penny, the assistant coach. Short blonde bob, arms crossed, expression somewhere between mildly skeptical and will run drills until you drop.

And last, but absolutely not least, Coach Atticus Henley himself. Square-jawed, salt-and-pepper buzzcut, and the kind of presence that makes me instinctively straighten my spine.

I swallow hard, forcing a smile. Well. No turning back now.

“Glad to have you aboard, Ms. Sterling,” the coach welcomes me, his big hand engulfing mine.

I’m surprised to find his palms callused much like Sven, Eric, and Levi’s are.

Maybe he exercises right alongside his players.

If that’s the case, he might need my services, too.

“I have these boys push it whenever needed. That’s where you and their trainers come in to keep exercises from becoming injuries. ”

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Henley.”

“Coach,” he corrects me. “That’s what everyone calls me. Cecille is your go-to with anything housing or business related. The boys know better than to do anything… untoward. But if they do, don’t hesitate to let Penny and I know. I won’t put up with any of that bullshit. Not for a second.”

Coach gives off a heavy fatherly vibe, which, frankly, is a foreign concept to me. I’ve never had a positive male role model in my life, so I can’t tell if I’m actually feeling it—or if the high altitude is just messing with my brain.

“He’s great, isn’t he?” Cecille asks when we’re alone again.

“Seems that way.”

“Oh, he’ll tear into the players or anyone else who deserves it, but only when warranted. He’s protective of the organization and players, but he’s especially protective of us women within the staff. I think it’s because he has daughters at home.”

“How many?” I ask .

“Four, and three of them play junior hockey. The other one’s a figure skater who’s doing fabulous. She’s ten and has already clinched a few awards.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”