Page 11 of Her Puck Daddies

“So can you give me the gist about what it’s like to work for the Avs and live in the Mile High City?” I ask Cecille as we head back to the garage.

“Housing here’s pricey, but with some trial and error, you should be able to find something you like. Have you put out any inquiries yet?"

"Not yet."

"A lot of the new staff end up rooming together in the nearby complexes. The players? They snatch up rentals and homes as close to the stadium as possible—but with the kind of money they make, they can affordanything."

"I figured I’d stay in a hotel tonight and figure things out from there," I admit.

Cecille scrunches her nose. "Yeah, no. Let me give you my sister’s number—she’s a real estate agent. Ursula dabbles in rentals too, so she should be able to hook you up sooner rather than later."

She hands me a business card.

“Thanks,” I smile. Connections within this city are exactly what I need.

“Hey, you’re part of the Avs family now, and we take care of our own.”

As we pull away from the curb, we drive past this striking blue horse with lit red eyes. It’s bold and draws my gaze immediately, but something about that statue is also terrifying. I can’t even say why. Even without my mentioning it, Cecille replies to my unasked question.

“That’s Blucifer, the Blue Mustang. Intimidating, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“He killed his owner.”

I blink in bewilderment. “What?”

“The sculptor commissioned to complete the sculpture was working on him in his studio in New Mexico when a section came loose and pinned him against this steel beam. It severed an artery in his leg, and he bled out before anyone found him.”

“How awful.”

“Right?” Cecille bobs her head. “The family decided to go ahead and finish it for his legacy’s sake. But in reality, that thing murdered its own creator.”

After Cecille drops me off at an Extended Stay just outside of the city, I barely manage to unpack a few essentials before collapsing onto the bed. Exhaustion weighs me down, but that doesn’t stop my subconscious from serving up a real-life horror show.

Maybe it’s the stress, or maybe it’s falling asleep in a questionable part of town, but I spend the night trapped in a series of nightmares—mostly involving fire-breathing blue mustangs trying to stomp my face in.

By the time I wake up, disoriented and mildly traumatized, I know one thing for sure: I need to get out of here.

I call Ursula, and to my relief, she gets back to me within hours—with a promising lead on a place to live.

“Listen, it’s not much, okay? But it’s within the price range you gave me, and it’s not listed on any rental sites yet. If you want it, I suggest you let them know now.”

I take Ursula’s advice and seize the opportunity. The apartment is nothing fancy—just a four-hundred-square-foot studio witha stamp sized bathroom above a small strip of mom-and-pop fast-food joints. It’s basic, but it’ll do. The only good thing about it is that it’s five blocks from the arena. I can hoof it to work, save on cab and bus fare, and put off getting a car for now.

I need every bit of my savings as a safety net. No way am I risking being trapped in a situation I can’t escape again. Never again.

I’ll be able to upgrade in a few months or so, if everything goes well. So right now, I’m not sweating it.

I’m out of Jersey. Nowhere near Dean.

With my phone’s GPS tracker off and his number silenced, there’s no way for him to find me. The only people he could go through are Leighton or Patrick MacDonnell, the lawyer her brother arranged for me as a favor. That alone should be enough to make me breathe easier. According to Patrick, Dean’s been less than pleasant, but he shouldn’t be a real problem—just empty rants and threats.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t relax.

My penchant for bad luck won’t let me.

Chapter 5