Page 8 of Her Puck Daddies
As we step off the plane, Ava’s nowhere to be seen, and honestly, I’m relieved. Just as well, because a group of photographers withprofessional cameras show up out of nowhere, flashes going off like crazy. It’s blinding, even in the daylight.
“Eric… Eric Schwartz… Over here… Look my way…” I keep my face forward, pretending I don’t hear a word for as long as possible. Then, when ignoring them is no longer an option, I force out a stiff smile and a tiny wave.
“Sven? Hey there, Captain…” Another idiot bounces around like they’re about to start doing jumping jacks. Sven’s more used to this crap, or maybe it’s just that he knows how to deal with it better. He’s the captain not just because of his skill on the ice, but because he’s good with his words and has the kind of personality that makes handling the public and press less of a headache.
Still, he doesn’t slow down enough to give autographs. Most of these assholes aren’t real fans anyway. Fans are usually just excited to meet someone they admire skating across the ice. These guys? They’re just trying to make a quick buck, catching us as we travel from place to place.
I don’t mind it so much when we’re on our way to or from games. We’re in our suits, and being polite in those situations is literally written into our contracts. But when these assholes track us down at airports or while we’re just out grabbinggroceries, it’s different. It’s like we’re never allowed a single moment of peace. Never a private life.
Not even during the off-season.
“Levi… Hey, Levi…” I watch as our goalie stiffens. As much as I hate these run-ins, Levi absolutely loathes them with the fury of a thousand suns. He’s been reprimanded more than once for his less-than-friendly attitude. But I know that not screaming at them to leave us alone takes all the willpower he’s got at the moment.
We don’t speak until we’re safely tucked into Sven’s black Escalade with its limo-tinted windows, finally out of view. It’s a pain having a famous face, but it’s the price of being in the NHL. That’s why I don’t complain about it—at least not out loud.
Being here, though, with these two guys and bonding like we do, is worth the annoyance. But if anything about what we did with Ava, or any of the other women we’ve hooked up with, ever gets out? It’s game over.
So, it can’t.
And we can’t be with Ava in that way ever again.
That’s all there is to it.
Chapter 4
AVA
As 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 asI 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?”