Page 61 of On the Power Play

"You can just leave it on the curb!” Mary called out, but Delia would do no such thing. She’d worked at a grocery store where people left their carts strewn across the parking lot and it had been the worst part of her shift to gather them up. Even the sound of the luggage cart knocking into the others made her wince.

She turned back to the car, and something shiny caught her eye. Delia bent down and picked up a scuffed toonie. She jogged to Mary’s window and held it up like she’d just won the lottery.

Mary gave her a look as she opened the door. “Seriously? It’s disgusting.”

Delia rubbed it on her jeans. "That's a coffee, my friend."

Mary slid over in the back seat for Delia to squish in. "At some point, you're going to be less cheap, right?"

"Like when I'm finally getting royalty checks?" Delia fastened her seatbelt. "Yeah, I doubt it." Mary snorted, and she held out her hands in defence. "I hate wasting things. There were years when we barely had enough for two meals a day. If I didn't eat every scrap of food at school lunch, I was going to be hungry until six o'clock. Unless I wanted to eat a plain baguette for an after-school snack. Which I did on multiple occasions."

Mary took off her coat and straightened her hair. "You're as bad as your mom. I don't think she's going to quit her jobs, even if you are bringing in money."

Delia scoffed. "She will. Once she sees we have enough savings."

"She won't know what to do with herself."

"I'll force her to take a spa day. She'll get addicted and never look back." Delia doubted her mother’s body would let her work much longer, even if she wanted to. She hoped it wouldn’t have to get to that point.

Mary chortled. "I'll believe that when I see it."

They wound through the airport streets and into the city. Though she'd been to Calgary plenty of times, it was still shocking how much it didn't feel like a big city. There was one small plot of high rises off in the distance, and the rest of the buildings were suburbs popping up out of prairie grass—brown, dead prairie grass. She doubted they’d be there long enough for her to see it turn green.

"Where are we staying?" Delia asked, and Mary shot her a look.

"I'm never going to tell you now. You know that, right?"

Delia slumped back, recognizing a lost cause when she saw one. She pulled out her phone, and her heart started to thump. She hadn't texted Jack since the other night after the show. Tony said he knew when she was coming in and that he was on hold for a planning meeting. Since she would be local, Tony wanted to get every one of their outings and public appearances on the books so he and the Blizzard's head of marketing could properly amplify them.

It felt clinical, but that was a good thing. The night before, her mom had caught her daydreaming twice over dinner. She'd picked up Mediterranean food and they'd sat together in the living room and talked for an hour or so. Twice during dinner Delia had let her mind wander off, and both times it landed on the same subject: Jack. The hotel room. Bond movies. Pizza.

It had to be because anytime she went online, she saw pictures of him or pictures of herself next to him. Her brain was being inundated. Plus, the woman in those pictures seemed like a figment of the media's imagination, and her brain fixated on dissonance. Like obsessing over it would force it to make sense, which it hadn’t. She existed here in joggers, and a hat pulled low while that girl was living a fairytale romance.

That girl was far more exciting, but the story was already scripted. She knew the ending, and it wasn't a happily ever after. It was a very strategic, very public break up. It was moving back to Toronto and releasing her new album. It was never talking to Jack Harrison again after the playoffs.

"Holy shit." Mary shoved her face up to the window, and Delia dropped from her thoughts, landing back on the seat next to her.

"What?" She shoved closer to try and glimpse whatever had caught Mary's attention.

"I was not expecting . . . that." Mary sat back, giving Delia a clear view, and her jaw dropped.

"Is that—?" She couldn't finish the sentence. How could she describe what was waiting for them on the sidewalk as Alvin pulled their SUV up to the curb?

If she had a way with words that weren't song lyrics, she would've described it as overwhelming masculinity. The hockey player calendar every Canadian woman didn't know they needed. Jack stood on the sidewalk with at least ten other men with broad shoulders and all the athletic hotness. Every single one of them, whether they wore joggers and long-sleeve T-shirts or baggy jeans slung low on their hips with toques and puffy vests, looked like they belonged in a Zack Prior cologne ad.

"Was this the surprise? That we're moving in with Jack and all his friends, because I don't think I'll be able to think straight with all of this happening. If they're walking around in boxers every morning . . ."

Mary laughed out loud. "Reign it in, Melise. I had no idea these guys were going to be here."

"Did I manifest this? All of my complaining about no decent guys in Toronto, and then we move to Calgary where it's dripping with testosterone-riddled hot hockey players?" Delia scanned the line, but her eyes kept slipping back to Jack. This was worse than shag carpet.

She sighed and dramatically fanned herself.

Mary laughed out loud. "This was the thing that broke you? You talked with effing Zack Prior last week, and now you've devolved into a cat in heat?"

“Zack Prior was kind of a douchebag.” Delia’s hand slipped as the car pulled to a stop, and she scrambled back to her middle seat, hoping Jack hadn’t seen her cheek pressed against the glass. "I don't even know what to do with this."

"This wasn't my surprise, I?—"

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