Page 97 of Well Played

With a gulp, I breathe hard to keep my voice steady. My brothers are bad communicators, but their carelessness hurts my feelings. “No, but maybe we can have dinner while he’s in town.” Chris must be on a scouting trip for Quebec.

“I’ll make sure he gets in touch.”

“It’s all good, Dad. Have to go. I’ll catch up with you and Mom tonight. Love you.”

“Love you too, honeybee. Chin up. Just remember that you have the power of the sting.”

A laugh bubbles up as I click off and put the phone in my jacket pocket. Glad at least Dad’s on my side.

A heavy hand drops onto my shoulder. “Come on, kid,” Ax says, not bothering to take me to task. “Time to meet the rest of the guys.”

The guys. I’ve been living and working with athletes my whole life. I know the competitiveness, the arrogance, but I also know that in some hockey teams, there is a camaraderie, an invisible thread that makes everyone family. I hope that’s the Seabirds.

I don the cool façade that belies the way my stomach plummets down my insides. Repressing the desire to walk away, out of the building, back to the cocoon that is Wichita, I straighten my shoulders and stiffen my spine. I’m Alan Pullman’s daughter, damn it, and I will fucking well act like it. I rub sweaty palms down my slacks. Time to find out what this team is made of, and what I’m made of too. It’s showtime at the Aero Center.

On fire with revived determination, I tap Ax’s shoulder. “Are they all like Sauer?” Then, before he can answer, I turn away, heels clicking against the concrete, and proceed him down the tunnel toward the great unknown.

3

Coaches are like ducks. Calm on top, but paddling underneath. Believe me, there’s a lot of leg movement.

– Ken Hitchcock

Frank

First Mom,then this new female complication. And my knee is killing me. I grit my teeth and fume through a workout on the exercise bike, then join the whole team in the dining room to wolf down healthy breakfast options.

We get a lot of advice on nutrition, but getting some of our meals from the team ensures that even if we don’t eat right at home, we get good nutrition at the arena. As a young player I lived on ramen and pizza so when I cut out both and added salad, the deprivations were like climbing a mountain, but now they’re second nature.

Over the past few years, most pro hockey arenas have been rebuilding or remodeling to meet the demands of the playersand the fans. Competition is fierce with the new franchises trying to make a splash.

Our building is only two years old and totally top-end. Fans love the layout, roomy seats, and easy access. State-of -the-art video screens positioned around the corners instead of hanging in the middle. Everything is in our colors, blue, black, and silver. The locker room is plush with plenty of space, but not so much we can’t look each other in the eye.

The entryway decor reflects the team’s history, one of the league originals. Our eight Stanley Cups are there, along with tributes to the men whose numbers have been retired. The opposite wall is filled with photos highlighting past glories and team rosters.

In the main room, the logo shines from the ceiling rather than gracing the floor, so we don’t have to skirt around it. The position is a constant reminder we are a team, not just a bunch of jocks.

Along with state-of-the-art training facilities, we have hot and cold hydrotherapy tubs, flat screens everywhere, a high-tech family lounge that includes a play area for the youngest kids, and a player lounge with TVs and gaming consoles.

Breakfast over, I walk stiff-legged, trying to hide the limp from twenty-two guys who lounge in the conference room waiting for the team meeting. I spy a seat in the back on the aisle, close to the door, trying to be unobtrusive as I clench my jaw and ease into a seat.

Ax walks in with our new physio. She looks wan. Maybe she’s disheartened by our first encounter. Maybe a few more digs and she’ll slink away. Furrows of strain show around her eyes and in the tightness of her lips. Bloodless fingers squeeze the crossbody bag that bangs against her hip.

A rush of victory vibes momentarily still the pain. If she can’t take a little confrontation, then working for a hockey team isn’tfor her. The idea of her disappearing brings relief. Momentary attraction discombobulated me. I didn’t like it, not one bit. The corners of my lips turn up in secret celebration.

A tap on the mic catches everyone’s attention. It crackles, then Ax’s voice booms out. “Okay, everyone. This is our new physical therapist, Maya Pullman.”

Immediately, Madman raises his hand and gets to his feet.

“Any follow up on Hank?’

The temperature drops and Ax’s smile wanes. “No. Just watch news reports if you need to keep tabs. The team isn’t involved, at least at this point.”

“Will some of us be questioned?”

Ax looks over to an unfamiliar guy in a navy chalk-striped suit. “This is Javier Martinez from the team’s law firm. Anything on that, Javier?”

“Nope. Management’s hope is to keep you all away from the case, but we can’t guarantee anything.”

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