Page 10 of Her Puck Daddies

“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 takesexactlyzero nonsense.

Then there’s Penny, the assistant coach. Short blonde bob, arms crossed, expression somewhere betweenmildly skepticalandwill 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 palmscallused 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.”

She takes me into the bowels of the building, where the floors shift between thick black rubber—designed to withstand ice skates—and plush gray carpeting in the office areas. The latter muffles our steps, making our walk eerily quiet despite the size of the place.

Framed posters of the Avalanche, the Nuggets, and the Colorado Mammoth line the hallways, a reminder that this isn’t just a hockey arena—it’s a home to three professional teams. No wonder the place is massive. Every turn reveals another hallway, another set of doors leading somewhere important.

The sheer scale of it all is overwhelming, but what really makes my stomach knot is how expensive everything looks. High-end finishes, sleek modern furnishings—clearly, no corners were cut. Even the drive here showcased upscale businesses and luxury condos, a not-so-subtle hint that Denver isn’t cheap.

And that’s a problem.

I have savings, sure. But between first and last month’s rent, a security deposit, and whatever hidden fees Denver landlords dream up, will it be enough?

I swallow hard. Guess I’ll be doing some frantic apartment hunting the second I get Wi-Fi. At least the job pays well. I just need to be smart—save up, resist the urge to splurge, and slowly rebuild what I’m about to lose.