Page 1 of Playoff

ONE

Rowan

It’s snowing.

It’s April and it’s snowing.

Of course, we’re in Alaska, so I guess that makes sense.

I stare out at the bleak landscape with a mental sigh.

I’ve never been a fan of snow or cold weather.

It’s ironic considering I work for a professional hockey team, so cold and snow seem to be an inevitable part of my life.

I didn’t plan it that way, going to college to become a physical therapist. Somehow, it morphed into kinesiology and a bunch of certifications that led me to a minor league team, and now the big leagues.

Working for the L.A. Phantoms is a dream come true. It’s a very male-dominated industry, but I started as an intern for my college hockey team and worked my way up from there. I’ve only been with the Phantoms a year, but it’s the best job I’ve ever had.

“Rowan.” Our team’s starting goalie, Gabe DeLugo, reaches over to touch my shoulder.

“What’s up?” I turn my head curiously.

“You think you can work on my knee tomorrow morning?” he asks. “It’s been sore.”

“Sure.” I nod. “Have you told Gene about this? He may have some solutions.” Gene Perrault is our head trainer and my boss.

“It’s nothing new,” he says with a sigh. “Part of being a thirty-seven-year-old pro athlete.”

“All right. We’ll look at it once?—”

The bus swerves, and the bus driver curses.

“Hang on—black ice!” he yells.

Shit.

I grip the arm rests as the bus does a spin.

Oh, this isn’t good. We’re not on a mountain, but there’s a ravine on one side—and that’s the side we’re careering toward.

Something hits us, spinning us in the opposite direction, and we fishtail a few times.

Then I’m jolted up, out of my seat, as the bus topples onto its side.

“Fuck!”

More expletives erupt throughout the bus.

I fly across the aisle and land on Head Coach Vanek with a hard thump. I mumble an apology as he grunts, but he reaches up to put a protective arm around me, holding me in place.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs as the bus continues to bump and turn.

There’s a lot of shouting and thudding before the bus finally comes to a stop, and it’s definitely not upright anymore.

“You okay, Coach?” I ask, trying to get my balance.

“I’m good,” he says, one hand still on my waist. “But don’t move too fast, until we get our bearings.”

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