Page 13 of Fall Wherever They May

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll go first to demonstrate Lukov's cootie-free status.”She giggles.

I like Hannah. You know when you meet someone, and you can just feel the positive vibes radiating off them? I could tell she was a genuinely good person the moment I met her. The more I’m around her, the more relaxed I become in this unfamiliar territory. She’s not only sweet; she also seems real.

She saunters over, sticks her nose to the jersey, and inhales deeply with much exaggeration. Her eyes are still closed when she leans back, as if she’s savoring the scent. Her eyes pop open expectantly. “See? Now it’s your turn.” She chuckles, holding out her hand toward the red jersey.

I glance at her nervously. Craning my neck. I check to make sure no one is going to sneak up on us and accuse me of being a creep. She lets out a snort.

“No one is coming; just do it,” she whispers as she rolls her eyes.

Steeling myself, I tilt my head from side to side, cracking my neck as I build up courage and succumb to her playful peer pressure. I lean in, place my nose to the jersey, and take a small whiff. The scent is intoxicating, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. I inhale the scent once more and realize she wasn’t exaggerating anything—the smell is just so damn good; you can’t help but take it in deeply.

“Nice, huh?” She raises one brow.

I lean back and point to the jersey. “What is that? It smells like cologne. That could honestly be an aphrodisiac.”

She giggles, “That fresh, woodsy scent comes from an all-natural, hypoallergenic solution that is placed within the air filtration system of the heat vents.”

“Wow.” Both of my eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I know, right? Technology is insane. Before we started using that solution, the guys were always complaining about their jerseys holding a sour smell. So, the system was installed, and all new uniforms were bought.” She beams.

I guess that’s why this locker room doesn’t smell like soured socks.

“This is just . . .” I shake my head, “. . . insane.”

We exit out of the locker room and begin to trek down the hallway, I’m assuming toward the team doctor’s office.

“So much has changed over the years.” She smiles and looks around as if she’s taking in how the facility has transformed. “When I was a little girl, I would run up and down these halls while my dad was at practice. That was long before my dad even considered retiring or becoming a coach.”

I stop walking. “Wait. Your dad played professional hockey before he was a coach?”

“Yep, he played hockey for The Blaze most of his career. When I was nine, my mom passed away. My dad sat down with Mr. West and told him he was going to hang up his skates because there was no way he was leaving me for someone else to take care of.”

I smile. “Sounds like you were blessed with a great dad.”

“The best.” She beams. “So, Mr. West made a deal with my dad to finish out the last two years of his contract. He allowed me to practically live here during the off season. During the season, Mr. West hired the best nannies to travel with me to my dad’s away games. It took some adjusting to a new norm, but it wasn’t long before I was thriving—despite my mom’s passing.”

“How did you do that and go to school?”

“I was homeschooled.” We stop in another corridor next to the restrooms. “Do you need to go?” She points in the direction of the ladies room. I shake my head. We continue on our way. “When my dad’s contract ended, Mr. West asked him tostay on as one of the assistant coaches. My dad worked his way up to head coach.”

I turn my head toward her, giving her my attention as we carry on our stroll around the facility. She stops every so often to show me something new. I realize we’ve almost come full circle. Hannah looks around with nostalgia. “This facility has pretty much been my home away from home.” Her smile is so wide and bright as she recounts her time growing up in this place alongside her dad.

A pang spears right through my heart at her words. She continues speaking—not realizing the impact she’s making on my battered soul.

“Watching this place transform from what it was when I was a little girl to what it is today . . .” she shakes her head. “Well, it’s a feeling I can’t even describe. About three years ago, Mr. West upgraded our dining room and kitchen. So, we now have an onsite chef and nutritionist year-round. A lot of the players come around during the off season. The meals are completely free, so whenever you or Tucker are hungry, just pop in there, tell Emilio, and he will fix you right up. It’s just upstairs on the other side of the conference room. Oh, I almost forgot!” She stops in her tracks and gives one little bounce on the balls of her feet as she turns to me.

She points toward the second floor. “There’s a door in the dining room that leads out onto a covered patio with a spectacular view if you ever want to eat outside. In the winter, we just roll down the wind blockers and turn on the heaters; it stays surprisingly warm. It’s one of my favorite places to have lunch.”

Hannah continues walking, and I follow. She points to a door as we pass by, “That is our workshop. Mr. Markovic takes most of the summer off, but come September, he’ll be here from sunup to sundown. He does all of our skate repairs.”

We make it to the team doc’s office. Dr. August Winslet is etched on a gold nameplate next to the door.

“Dr. Winslet?” Hannah peeks her head into his doorway. “I have Aspen Taylor here to meet you.”

“Ah. I’ve been waiting for you.” He comes through the door and shakes my hand.

Dr. Winslet is older, maybe in his early sixties, and has a mild English accent. He’s dressed casually today, but I guess with it being the off season, he has no reason to wear the white coat I see hanging up through the open doorway.

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