Page 7 of Breakaway

Morgan hurried upstairs to her bedroom, shut the door behind her. She closed her eyes and relaxed in the stillness of the room. Taking a cleansing breath, she took her coffee to the bed and sat down, tucking her legs underneath her.

Aunt Trina was sweet to say this was her house, too. But the reality was that her whole life was within these four walls. And as cute as Willow and Hank were, she wasn’t sure how many questions she could endure before her coffee kicked in each morning.

MORGAN PLASTERED A smile on her face, as her uncle Sam boasted about her to his colleague. The man was in a suit that actually fit him. That was one thing she’d noticed about these hockey players, especially her uncle; they liked to wear slacks that fit like skinny jeans. She and her mom would always tease her uncle when he wore them, stating that he was trying to show off his muscular thighs. While she was all for a guy in skinny jeans—and that was probably the skater girl in her talking—she wasn’t sold on the tight suit pants.

“As I was saying, Tim, my niece just graduated college and is looking to get out into the workforce. She’s new to Pittsburgh, and I thought you could make room for her somewhere in the organization. She graduated with a degree in journalism and was hoping to find something within the team.”

Morgan was twenty-one years old and fresh out of college. Back in California, she’d had her sights set on interning for one of the news channels. Being a reporter had been a dream of hers. It didn’t hurt that she’d always liked being the center of attention. Put her in front of a camera and she sparkled.

She had sent out tons of resumes during the last few months of school, had even interviewed with a few news outlets. Morgan knew which position she really wanted, and was ready to jump into the work-world as soon as she graduated. But, things didn’t work out that way.

“I’m sure we can find something around here for you. I can’t promise it will be in journalism, at least not yet; that might take some time. We just had a new group of interns start, so I’m not sure there are any openings, but let me look into it. If there is a position, I’ll let you know.” He paused, as if he were thinking. “I will call you later today after I check with H.R.”

“Thank you so much,” she replied. “I’m happy to start anywhere, and I’ll take anything you have available.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Sam added, shaking Tim’s hand. “We appreciate the help.”

“No problem,” Tim said. “It was nice to meet you, Morgan,” he said with a smile, and then checked his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m running a little late for an appointment,” he added, before he strode off in the other direction.

Morgan felt a twang of guilt that her uncle was going out of his way to help her and taking time away from busy people. It went against the grain. Her mother had raised to work hard for everything she wanted. Even with her uncle being a professional athlete, they had never asked for handouts, no matter how tight money had been at home. Her mom had been proud that she’d raised her daughter on her own, and that attitude had rubbed off on Morgan.

She’d graduated top of her class, and was confident in her abilities. She believed she could have found a job without any help, and regretted not sending out applications before leaving California. But she had to admit, her career field was ultra-competitive, and any help should be gratefully welcomed.

Moving cross-country at the last minute didn’t help her job search. Besides, she was determined to be an asset, and was ready to work her butt off in any position offered to her, on the chance she could somehow work her way into a job in journalism with the Renegades.

“Uncle Sam, I don’t how know I can ever thank—”

Her uncle put his finger up, stopping her. Looking at his watch, he said, “I have to run. Practice starts soon. Grab some lunch on me.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty. “I’ll see you when practice is over.”

Before she could tell her uncle that she didn’t need his money, he was jogging towards the locker room area, waving bye to her.

Morgan let out a long breath. There was no arguing with her uncle. She should’ve known better. Over the last year, her uncle had offered his help in many areas. They hadn’t wanted to take handouts, but when her mom had become too sick to do things for herself, she’d had to resign herself to the fact that sometimes it was okay to let family help.

Finding a job was something Morgan knew she could’ve done for herself. But what was done was done. She’d graciously accept her uncle’s help to get a foot in the door. But that was all.

She grabbed an iced coffee and found a seat in the bleachers. She liked hockey just fine, but admittedly, she hadn’t really kept up on the Renegades games. They were typically on at seven o’clock east coast time, so that meant four in the afternoon on the west coast. For the last four years, she’d gone to work after her classes, and all of her free time was spent at the library, studying. Which meant most of those guys on the ice were just numbers to her. Except of course for her uncle, and the guys who were always in front of the media or on her uncle’s social media timeline, like Tyler Kidd and Kris Lafleur.

She wouldn’t have known any of the younger guys if she ran into them on the street. Some of them bounced back and forth from the minor league to Pittsburgh, and apart from the years she’d been preoccupied with school, the last few months with her mom had been her sole focus.

Her concentration left the scrimmage and moved to finding a job. Tim had said he would look into an intern position, but that would, no doubt, mean no pay. Maybe if she found a part-time job, she could do both. That way, she could earn money so she could get her own apartment, and she could do what she loved, while hopefully working her way up to an actual position in front of the camera.

If her tired body and lack of motivation were going to be the norm while living with her little cousins, then she had to find her own place, sooner rather than later.

CHAPTER FOUR

Travis

Travis entered the practice facility through the main entrance, his equipment bag swung over his shoulder. The players typically came in through the back of the building, where the private, gated parking lot was. But he was staying within walking distance, across the street at the hotel, where the rookies that had been called up usually stayed.

He did have a truck that was parked at the hotel, but walking off his pent up energy sounded like a better idea. His stomach twisted as though it was the first day of school—even though he had reported to the arena yesterday when he’d got into town. Today would be his first practice here.

As he looked around the lobby, excitement filled his chest. He hoped this would be more of a long-term assignment than a one and done. Every hockey player’s dream was to play for the professional league. Not that playing in the minors was an easy-in; a player still had to be at the top of his game to get drafted. But to be in Pittsburgh—this is where Travis wanted to be.

“Anderson!” Ben Fischer called. “I told you, I would’ve driven you over.”

“Nah, it’s cool. A little walking never hurt anyone.” He had been ready before the other guys, and had been too excited to get to practice, to sit around and wait. He felt like a little kid, but then again, at twenty-four, he was kind of the little kid here. Sure, some of the guys that had come up from the Falcons were younger than him, but they were rookies.

Nervous energy ran through him, when he watched his Falcons teammates walk by. He felt frozen to the ground, as he tried to take everything in. If he did get sent back to the minors after the next game, he wanted to remember how it felt to be here. And he wanted to work hard to get back.