Page 1

ONE

Rowan

It’s snowing.

It’s April and it’s snowing.

Of course, we’re in Alaska, so I guess that makes sense.

I stare out at the bleak landscape with a mental sigh.

I’ve never been a fan of snow or cold weather.

It’s ironic considering I work for a professional hockey team, so cold and snow seem to be an inevitable part of my life.

I didn’t plan it that way, going to college to become a physical therapist. Somehow, it morphed into kinesiology and a bunch of certifications that led me to a minor league team, and now the big leagues.

Working for the L.A. Phantoms is a dream come true. It’s a very male-dominated industry, but I started as an intern for my college hockey team and worked my way up from there. I’ve only been with the Phantoms a year, but it’s the best job I’ve ever had.

“Rowan.” Our team’s starting goalie, Gabe DeLugo, reaches over to touch my shoulder.

“What’s up?” I turn my head curiously.

“You think you can work on my knee tomorrow morning?” he asks. “It’s been sore.”

“Sure.” I nod. “Have you told Gene about this? He may have some solutions.” Gene Perrault is our head trainer and my boss.

“It’s nothing new,” he says with a sigh. “Part of being a thirty-seven-year-old pro athlete.”

“All right. We’ll look at it once?—”

The bus swerves, and the bus driver curses.

“Hang on—black ice!” he yells.

Shit .

I grip the arm rests as the bus does a spin.

Oh, this isn’t good. We’re not on a mountain, but there’s a ravine on one side—and that’s the side we’re careering toward.

Something hits us, spinning us in the opposite direction, and we fishtail a few times.

Then I’m jolted up, out of my seat, as the bus topples onto its side.

“Fuck!”

More expletives erupt throughout the bus.

I fly across the aisle and land on Head Coach Vanek with a hard thump. I mumble an apology as he grunts, but he reaches up to put a protective arm around me, holding me in place.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs as the bus continues to bump and turn.

There’s a lot of shouting and thudding before the bus finally comes to a stop, and it’s definitely not upright anymore.

“You okay, Coach?” I ask, trying to get my balance.

“I’m good,” he says, one hand still on my waist. “But don’t move too fast, until we get our bearings.”

He’s right, so I stop struggling to get up, twisting my head instead, to get a feel for the damage.

People are yelling, talking, calling out for help.

“It looks like we’re on a flat surface,” Coach Vanek says finally, squinting into the darkness. “I think it’s safe to move—but slowly.”

I nod, sliding off his lap and finding my footing.

People are everywhere, almost no one in their original seats.

“Everyone okay?” I yell out.

“Rowan—over here,” Gene calls to me. He’s bending over Ivan Rochenko, one of our forwards, and I see a lot of blood.

“Shit.” I hurry in that direction. Gene is holding his jacket over a deep gash in Ivan’s temple. “Let me see if I can find the first aid kit.” It’s actually a first aid duffle bag, because Gene is a little anal about having it with him at all times when we travel.

Thank goodness for Gene’s quirks, because the bag was up in the cubby above his seat instead of in the bus bay with everyone else’s luggage, and it’s still lodged in there.

“I got it.” Connor Brooks, a nineteen-year-old rookie on the team, reaches over my head.

“You okay, Connor?” I ask, putting a hand on his forearm.

He nods. “Yeah. I was asleep. Woke my ass up in a hurry.” He pulls down Gene’s duffel and I grab it, yanking it open and pulling out some gauze.

“I smell gas,” someone yells.

“We need to get off the bus!” The driver is pushing at the door, which is luckily on top and not beneath us.

“I’ve got you.” Gabe runs over, along with Connor, and the two of them get the door open.

“Rowan.” Jensen Bang, a defenseman on the team, calls to me quietly. “I think my arm’s broken.”

“Can you move it?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Blood? Bone?”

Another shake. “Nothing like that. Just hurts and I can’t move it.”

“Sit tight,” I tell him. “Don’t aggravate it until we’re ready to get you out of here.”

I’m momentarily overwhelmed. There’s a lot going on, and I’m hoping none of the injuries are life-threatening.

“Is anyone unconscious?” I yell out. “Look around, the people who were sitting near you…anyone not moving?”

“Over here!” Canyon Marks is one of the top players on the team, and he’s leaning over Marty Nadeau, who’s slumped over, motionless. “I think he hit his head.”

“Fuck.” I bend over, looking for a pulse, gratified to find one. “He’s breathing, but he’s got a head wound. Can you hold this on it?” I hand Canyon more gauze, and he nods.

“Everyone who’s not hurt needs to climb out and then help everyone else,” Coach Vanek yells. He’s moving toward the exit. He ditches his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, all business.

“Gene, they’re going to need you out there,” I say. “You go on, and I’ll take care of the guys in here until it’s time.”

Gene’s a little pale, but he nods and I don’t have time to worry about him. “On it.”

“Ivan.” I press the wound firmly with one hand, digging around the duffel for smelling salts. I find one of the packets, tear it open with my teeth, and then hold it under Ivan’s nose. Luckily, it does the trick and his eyes flutter open.

“Wha—” He starts to sit up, but I gently push him back down.

“Don’t move,” I say softly. “You hit your head. We’re getting everyone off the bus, and I’ll help you when it’s time.”

He nods. His focus is a little off, and I can tell he’s struggling, but he’s a trooper, managing to stay awake.

“What can I do?” he rasps.

“Nothing. You may have a concussion and the cut on your temple is bleeding, so just relax.”

“Big Bang, you’re up.” Coach is leaning down through the open door, holding out a hand.

“I’ve got him from here,” Canyon says.

Jensen is a big guy. Six feet five inches of solid muscle, and in great shape. If anyone can scale the bus with one arm, it’s him. Gene has crafted a makeshift sling for his broken arm, and Jensen uses his good one to take Coach Vanek’s hand. He braces his legs on the side of the bus and essentially walks up the wall, with Coach pulling him forward and Canyon nudging him from behind.

“I’ve got Marty,” Canyon says. He lifts his unconscious teammate and somehow slings him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Coach Vanek and someone I can’t see clearly reach down, grabbing Marty’s shirt and pants. They lift him slowly and awkwardly, as carefully as they can, and he disappears out the doors. Hopefully, Gene can figure out why the smelling salts didn’t work for him.

“I think you’re up,” I tell Ivan.

He nods, sitting up straighter. “I think I can climb,” he murmurs. “Just might need someone to steady me.”

“I’m right here.” I help him stand and wrap an arm around his waist. He’s a lot bigger than I am, but at least he’s walking.

“Fuck…” He stumbles and I brace myself, trying to keep us both upright.

“Come on, Ivan.” Canyon holds out a hand. “You need to get out of here.”

“I’m good.” He lists to one side as Canyon steadies him.

“Okay, take Coach’s hand and just hold on. The guys will do the rest.”

I see Coach, Connor, and Chandler Cormier, our backup goalie, waiting to hoist Ivan up.

Luckily, it goes without an issue and the last few guys scramble out of the bus.

“Ladies first,” Canyon says to me when we’re the only two left.

“Hang on.” I hand him Gene’s duffel. “Take this and let me get some jackets. It’s cold out there.”

“Hurry,” he calls after me. “The gas smell is stronger.”

I grab as many as I can carry, tossing them at him before reaching up to take Coach’s hand. He pulls me out, and Canyon hands us the coats I managed to get hold of. He turns, taking as many as he can before scrambling up and out.

Everyone has scattered, some guys on their phones, some hovering around Marty and Ivan, and others just standing there. I look around and find Gene sitting on the ground, breathing hard.

“Gene?” I run over to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I think…” He takes a shaky breath. “I think I’m having… a heart…attack.”

“Where’s your nitro?” I ask. He’s had issues before so I know he carries it with him.

“In my suitcase.”

Oh shit.

I whirl.

“Canyon!”

“What’s up, Ro?” he asks with urgency; he must sense the alarm in my voice.

“I need to get up on top of the bus! Now! Gene’s having a heart attack.”

“Shit.” Canyon cradles his hands, making a step for me, and I put my foot on it. He lifts me with sheer brute force, and I manage to pull myself up onto what’s now the top of the bus. All the luggage is stored in the bus bay, and I yell down to the driver.

“Hank, how do I get this thing open?”

He gives me instructions and a moment later, Canyon is up there with me. “This might just need strength,” he says. Together, we manage to get it open, and I start tossing the suitcases out and onto the ground. The guys could need sweaters, gloves, or any number of things, but I need to find Gene’s suitcase.

“There.” I grab it and toss it over the edge. “Coach Vanek—Gene has a bottle of nitro in there. Find it and give him one ASAP.”

I don’t need to explain what’s happening to Coach Vanek, so Canyon and I continue tossing the rest of the luggage onto the ground. I’m sweating by the time we’re done, but I’m glad we did it.

“Smoke!” someone yells. “Get down from there.”

“Come on.” Canyon runs back to the area where the door is, since there are places to hold on there, and he jumps down with me right behind him.

“Gene!” I run to my boss and he’s even paler than before.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear sirens.

Thank God.

“Hang on, Gene,” I whisper. “Okay? Marnie and the kids need you.”

He nods. “Can you find my phone?”

“I don’t know where it is, but here, use mine.” I’d stuffed it in my jacket before leaving the bus, and I hand it to him. He dials what I assume is his wife’s number, and I move away, giving him privacy. There’s nothing more I can do now, except pray that the nitroglycerin is working, and the paramedics get here on time. Normally, he keeps it in the first aid duffel, but he’d changed a few things for this trip.

“We’ve got a lot of injuries,” Coach Vanek says under his breath. “Marty, Ivan, Big Bang, Shane, and Evan are just the ones I can see.”

I notice Coach Danvers, the associate coach, favoring his arm and hurry in his direction. “Coach? You okay?”

“Might’ve busted my collarbone,” he says, “but I’ll be fine. You worry about the others.”

“I’m worried about everyone .”

I look up as the first fire truck appears.

Thank fuck.

Fire fighters are coming toward us, and I point them in Gene’s direction first, and then to Marty, who’s still only semi-conscious.

Thankfully, everyone is intact.

There appear to be a lot of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, a handful of broken bones, and maybe a couple of concussions, but nothing life-threatening.

Which is a miracle considering the shape the bus is in.

Now that help is here, I turn to assess the damage and it’s bad .

We could have all died.

A shudder runs through me as I try not to dwell on that.

I rub my hands up and down my arms trying to get warm.

Someone throws a blanket over my shoulders.

“This is one hell of a way to start the first game of the playoffs,” Gabe says quietly. “I really hope this isn’t some kind of omen.”