Page 11 of Season's Schemings

Very late.

I’m about to call her when the team’s HR and Scheduling Manager, Adrienne, bursts into the kitchen. “There you are!”

I’m not sure where the hell else I would be at 11am on a Tuesday, but I smile at her anyway. “Just getting breakfast prepped. Stef isn’t here yet, though.”

“I know!” Adrienne cries, throwing her hands up. The woman certainly has a flair for the dramatic. Which I can appreciate. “She slipped this morning. She’s gone to the emergency room.”

My knife falls out of my hand and clatters on the countertop as I gasp. “Oh, no. Is she okay?!”

My mind is whirling, immediately going to all of the worst possible places, when Adrienne yells, “NO! She is not okay. She has a fractured thumb. Thumb!” she repeats the word, apparently for good measure.

Or maybe she thinks I’m a bit slow… which I might be. Because if I’m hearing Adrienne correctly, Stefisn’ton death’s door?

“Oh,” I breathe in relief. “Is that all? That’s all right.”

“Of course she’s not all right!” Adrienne bellows. Her volume is rather impressive given her waify disposition—Adrienne is tall, blonde, slim, and incredibly pale. She doesn’t look unlike one of the elves in those dreadedLord of the Ringsmovies that Jax watches purely for the scenery. “How is one supposed to cook with her thumb in a cast?”

“Umm…”

“She’s out of commission for at least a week.” Adrienne points at me with a perfectly manicured finger. “Which means you, my dear, need to pack your bags.”

“You’re firing me?” I squeak.

Adrienne clicks her tongue impatiently. “Keep up, Madelyn. You’re coming to Vegas for Thanksgiving.”

5

SEB

The ice beneath my skates feels slick as I race down the rink, the puck gliding effortlessly with the guidance of my stick.

A breakaway.Finally.

I love playing in Vegas. Their arena is always buzzing with energy and noise, but for today’s Thanksgiving Special, it’s even more electric than usual.

And it’s turning out to be quite the game. We’re tied 2-2 and there’s just under one minute left in the third period. The outcome could be squarely in my hands. The crowd roars, but their voices fade into the background, white noise shimmering in the distance as my focus hones in on the net that’s fast approaching.

Pressure has never been a problem for me.

I freaking thrive on it. And after a year together, me, Mal, and Colton make a pretty great line, playing effortlessly as a unit, in total sync with each other.

And right now, thanks to a perfect pass from Colton, I have no intention of doing anything that isn’t scoring. I have one of the best slapshots in the entire league, and I finally have a chance to put it to good use this afternoon.

I tear down the ice faster, my thighs pumping, my skates sliding across the ice with perfect precision. Adrenaline flows through my veins and I feel the tension in my gut, the focus of my entire concentration as I swing back my stick, and strike.

It’s a good shot. Exactly where I want it.

I look on as the puck sails past the goalie’s outstretched glove and into the top right corner of the net.

GOAL!

The arena erupts with a mixture of boos from the Vegas fans, and cheers from ours. My teammates pounce on me, yelling and pumping their fists. I love it when games come down to the wire like this. Reminds me of playing junior league hockey in grade school, how my dad would always be in the stands, ready to give me a secret little thumbs up when I sought him out in the small crowd of parents when my nerves threatened to get the better of me, silently letting me know that he believed I could do it.

Today, in the middle of the jostle of bodies and yells and helmet smacks in an arena filled with almost twenty thousand, I glance around at the sea of screaming fans. Another nice thing about playing in Vegas—there are so many visitors in this city that, at any given time, the likelihood of the away team having more of their fans in the crowd is higher than when we play an away game anywhere else. And the cheers coming from thousands of maroon-jersey clad spectators are plentiful.

I’m soaking it all in. And then, for some reason, my eyes zero in on an unexpected familiar face…

Lady M.