Page 5 of Summer with a Player

"Okay, do a mental backtrack," I say aloud, opening my eyes. "Dr. Hammond's, the receptionist, the hand-off..."

A memory clicks. The receptionist had been flustered with the office busier than usual. The sample could've been mixed in with the others because she only handed me one bag. It has to be there. I nod to myself, and I head back inside to double count that collection bag.

"Hey, Greg," I call out as I enter the processing area again. "I think the missing sample might be in the bag from Dr. Hammond's office."

"Really?" he raises an eyebrow. "Let's take a look then."

We carefully empty the contents of the bag onto a clean table, sorting through each vial and comparing them with the list of pickups.

"Here it is!" I exclaim, holding up the missing vial. "It was just hiding among the others."

"Nice catch." Greg grins.

"Now let's get this all wrapped up so we can call it a day,” I reply.

"Agreed," he chuckles, helping me reorganize the samples and checking off the corrected list.

"That’s all of them. Thank you, Greg." I smile, appreciating his help. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Take care, Elle," he calls after me as I wave goodbye and head out.

As I drive through the streets of Charleston and onto the highway that’s a short drive to Love Beach, I think about what kind of calls I might receive during my shift as a phone psychic. Lately, all the callers seem to think I’m more of a therapist rather than telling their fortune.

"Maybe someone will ask for advice on their love life," I muse, tapping my fingers lightly on the steering wheel. "Or perhaps they'll need help choosing a winning lottery ticket." I chuckle at the thought, knowing that despite its comedic nature, this job helps me connect with people who are seeking comfort and guidance. Ironically, that’s something I can relate to.

The beach comes into view first, and then with a right turn at the seawall, I arrive at Serenity Village, a tiny home community. I park the car and stroll toward my front door, taking in the scent of the ocean air. With a sigh, I unlock the door and step inside, immediately kicking off my shoes. My blue and white cozy little sanctuary of a home fills me with a sense of comfort.

I grab a glass of water and settle down at my small two-seater table that dubs as a desk. "Time to switch gears and prepare for some interesting conversations."

I log into the phone platform, adjusting my headset and waiting for the first call to come through. Within moments, the line buzzes, and I wait for the electronic system to connect my first call.

"Thank you for calling into Miss Tusaine’s Readings for the Divine. I’m Lavender Meadows, your psychic for the next thirty minutes. How can I assist you?"

"Yeah, uhm," the caller begins hesitantly. "I, uhm, have a bit of an unusual situation. My cat, Mr. Whiskers, has been acting strange lately. Do you think he's trying to tell me something?"

Suppressing a grin, I lean back in my chair, ready to offer any counsel I can. "Well, let's see if we can figure it out, shall we? Tell me more about what's been going on with Mr. Whiskers."

As the caller recounts their feline's antics, I listen intently, offering occasional words of encouragement to keep talking. Though my psychic abilities may not be, let’s just say, up to par as what others claim to be. I do understand that sometimes people simply need someone to talk to, and I'm more than happy to be that person.

I diligently watch the minutes tick down on the computer screen that’s connecting our call, and to the second when the thirty minutes are up, I interrupt Mr. Whiskers life’s story. “So sorry, Idon’t mean to cut you off. Thank you for calling in, our time is up for the night.”

"Oh, uhm, yes. Of course. Thank you," the caller responds. "Have a good night."

"You as well. If you ever need to chat again, don't hesitate to call back into Miss Tusaine’s Readings for the Divine. Thank you." With that, I hang up the phone and brace myself for bizarre requests or entertaining stories my next few callers might have in store.

Chapter 3

Asher

The puck is secure on the blade of my stick as I race down the ice towards our goal. Sweat drips down my face as my muscles tense, preparing for the shot. The roar of the crowd urges me on. It's a feeling that never gets old. I force everything to fade away, and it's just me, the puck, and the net.

"Jet, over here!" Ryder's voice cuts through the noise, and I flick my wrist to send the puck flying his way rather than shooting. He catches it with ease and weaves around the defenders, but not before sending it back my way. The connection with my stick is perfect.

I take the shot this time, and the world seems to slow down as the puck soars through the air, finding its mark in the top corner of the net. The buzzer blares as the lights bounce around the arena in red and white flashes all around. My teammates swarm me, pounding me on the back and shouting congratulations. We've done it. Another win for the Charleston Renegades.

"Great job, man!" Ryder yells. Dakota follows suit, pulling me into a bear hug that nearly lifts me off the ground. These guys are more than just teammates; they're my brothers, my support system. We've been through thick and thin together, and I’m proud to share this victory with them.

As we head off the ice, Ryder claps me on the shoulder. "Let's hit Sand Dunes to celebrate," he suggests. It's become our go-to spot, it’s on our way home in the small beach town just outside of Charleston named Love Beach. So, it’s a little off the beaten path where paparazzi and tons of fans tend not to go, making it the perfect place to unwind.

---