Page 9 of Her Puck Daddies

“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 theJeppesen 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, anymoreof 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 justleaves 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 absolutemonsterof 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?”