Page 2 of Her Puck Daddies
It feels like the beginning of a fresh chapter as I drop my phone into my pocket and traverse the aisle toward my business class seat aboard this 737. I only have these deluxe accommodations because my new employer, the NHL’s Colorado Avalanche, has paid for me to arrive at their Denver headquarters in style.
Getting the call about my sudden change in fortune couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve been desperate to get the hell out of New Jersey for so long, to leave behind the place where Dean and so many of my worst memories live.
It’s not just him, though. I didn’t have many friends growing up, and survival with my mom was all I knew. She did her best, but her need to get high often got the best of her. The minute I turned eighteen, she packed up and took off on a road trip with her friends, leaving me to figure out life on my own. She checks in every few months, a text or a quick call, but that’s the extent of our relationship. I couldn’t turn to her when things with Dean fell apart, but I had Leighton, my best friend, my rock, the one person I’ll actually miss.
So, as much as this fresh start feels like a gift, I might be jumping out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. Because as soon as I get there, I’ll have to face the three ghosts of my one-night stand’s past, the strangers I shared a crazy, uninhibited, and stark-naked evening with. Men I’ll have to work closely with at this new job.
Oh, and did I mention that one-night stand was the best damn sex in my entire life?
My stomach has been in knots ever since realizing that the ridiculously hot men I only knew as Odds, Doggie, and Spandex are actually Eric Schwartz, Sven Hinter, and Levi Corolla—key players on the very NHL team I’ve just been hired to treat. So if there was any lingering doubt that my bad luck would follow me clear across the country? Yeah, that’s gone. It’s definitelycoming with me. And at this point, more bad luck feels almost inevitable.
Because the truth is, this new chapter, this new career, might not even have the chance to take root. It could wither and die right there on the vine.
So, yeah, trouble continues to haunt my steps, and apparently, it always will.
But really, what choice do I have? Leaving this city isn’t just a want, it’s a necessity. And so is the ridiculously generous salary the organization is offering. Besides, I’ve already signed on the dotted line. No backing out now. Not for me, and hopefully, not for the league.
Hopefully.
For now, the NHL has made sure my flight is comfortable, so I should probably try to enjoy it. Or at least pretend to. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway. People like me don’t get breaks like this often, so I’m doing my best to stay calm and take it in stride.
Even if the second I see those three hockey players again, it all blows up in my face.
Seated comfortably in Business Class, I glance out the window of the empty seat next to me, watching the caravan of aircraftlining up for takeoff. It’s my first time flying, and honestly, I’m impressed—soft leather seats, generous legroom, and chairs that recline almost all the way back. Even the screens in front of me are stocked with endless entertainment options. Definitely a step into luxury after going without for so long, and I’m determined to soak in every bit of it.
Just as I’m settling in, movement near the front of the plane draws my attention. I peek ahead, my gaze slipping past the curtain separating first class from the rest of the cabin. Three men step through, and the moment I recognize them, my heart leaps into my throat. I bite down on a panicked yelp.
Holy shit.
Holy fuck.
A tall and beefy man with fluffy brown hair and a ridiculously handsome face is swaggering down the aisle with the ease that only athletes possess. It’s Eric. Behind him is the dark head of Levi and then, of course, Sven’s blond one. I bury my face into the space between my seat and my window and pretend to be asleep, my blood pressure rising.
I’m so screwed.
Why of all the flights out of all the different times, why do they have to be on this one?
I lay there, eyes closed, features hidden as best as I can manage—too bad it’s not winter so I could be wearing a hoodie—wishing for a miracle. Maybe they won’t notice me. If they do, I won’t know what to say. I’ve been attempting to work that out somehow, but I haven’t yet. I’m not ready.
My shitty lack of fortune has shown its ugly head again. I mean, I knew they were in Newark, but what is the likelihood of us sharing the same flight? Maybe it makes sense. For them, this will mean heading home. But still.
Dammit.
I literally hold my breath as they toss their bags in the overhead bins and settle into their seats, afraid to move a single muscle. Only after counting to one hundred do I dare to slit open one eye, checking if the coast is clear.
It appears to be. Thank god.
They’re a few rows ahead, completely unaware of my presence. But even after takeoff, even after we hit cruising altitude, I can’t relax. I can’t lower my guard. This flight is just over three and a half hours, so I hunker down and stay exactly where I am. What other choice do I have?
But, as usual, nothing ever goes that smoothly for me.
About an hour in, the ice water the flight attendant handed me at the start of the flight hits bottom, and I suddenly really need to use the lavatory. There’s one up front, but that would mean trundling by the keen-eyed Sven, Eric, and Levi without being detected.
Nope. I’d rather hold it.
But another hour passes, and now I’m about to burst. What if we get held up on the tarmac? That happens all the time, right? And who knows if they’ll even let passengers get up then. No, I can’t wait any longer. I have to do this now.
So, I wend my way toward the back.