Page 2 of Pucking Amazing

“Hear, hear!”

Selena clinks my cup again as we dissolve into giggles, caramel and possibility sweet on my tongue. Maybe I can get the old Sydney back, with my sister’s help.

Maybe I can start over in Chicago.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I push open the glass doors embossed with the Chicago Blizzards logo and step into the expansive lobby of the practice arena.

Whoa.

This place is swanky as hell. Sleek white and black accents are everywhere, with massive action shots of the players frozen in triumphant poses covering the soaring walls.

The clack from my heels on the polished concrete floors echoes up to the vaulted ceiling. I feel tiny as I approach the reception desk, but I paste on a bright smile for the immaculately coiffed woman sitting behind it.

“Hi there! I’m Sydney Nelson, the new?—”

“Sydney, welcome!” a booming voice interrupts. I turn to see a distinguished older man striding toward me, arm extended. “Vincent Dale, GM. We spoke on the phone.”

“Of course, hi!” I shake his hand, hoping my grip projects confidence. “Pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Dale.”

“Likewise. We’re thrilled to have you here. And please, call me Vincent.” Vincent claps me on the shoulder, steering me down a hallway lined with framed jerseys. “I’ll give you the grand tour later, but let’s head straight to the heart of the action, eh? Boys are already on the ice.”

My stomach flutters at the thought of meeting the team. “Sounds great. I’m excited to dive in.”

“I’ll be straight with you,” Vincent says, his expression sobering. “We need you. Bad. The incident in Canada...it’s a mess. Media’s having a field day painting us as a bunch of loose cannons.”

I nod, my therapist brain already shifting into gear.

People are used to hockey players getting in a lot of fights—but usually, the players are fighting the other teams. The Blizzards got into a massive brawl amongst themselves. Violent, bloody, and nearly career-ending for their starting goalie.

Three players were at the center of the storm, and I’m here to get to the bottom of it and help the team move on.

“I read the reports,” I say. “Seems like there’s a lot of untapped anger there.”

“You could say that.” Vincent shakes his head. “But from what Emma’s told me, if anyone can get these hotheads to simmer down, it’s you. She raved about your work with young addicts. Said you have a gift.”

I duck my head, cheeks warming. My friend Emma, who works as the assistant video coach to the team, referred me to Vincent when the team realized they needed to hire a counselor.

Part of me is still not sure if she did it because she thought I was the best person for the job…or if she could see me drowning in Boston and wanted to throw me a lifeline.

Either way, I’m grateful for it.

“I don’t know about a gift,” I tell him, “but I’ll certainly do my best.”

“I have no doubt.” Vincent pauses outside a set of double doors, his face serious again. “One more thing—the boys don’t know the full extent of your role here. As far as they’re concerned, you’re just providing general counseling and support, not addiction treatment per se. Let’s keep it that way for now, yeah? No need to spook them.”

“Of course,” I agree, though something niggles in the back of my mind.

Secrets are a dangerous foundation for a therapeutic relationship.

But Vincent’s the boss. I’ll follow his lead.

For now.

He pushes open the doors and I’m hit with a blast of frigid air, the sounds of skates carving ice and sticks slapping pucks.

And then I see them. The Chicago Blizzards in the flesh.

My mouth goes dry at the sheer physical presence of these elite athletes as they fly across the ice, their powerful bodies honed for speed and aggression. The air is heady with the scent of sweat and adrenaline and...testosterone.

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