Page 28 of My Lucky Charm

I only realize it after the fact. And I’m trying to be better about that.

After a full tour of the administrative offices, Beverly looks down at her FitBit. “Whoo! Got my steps in already! I should head back to my office.” She nods at my lanyard. “That’ll get you in just about anywhere you need, both here and at the arena, but for obvious reasons, it will not open the door to the men’s locker room.” She lets out a cackle. “If you need Mr. Hawke for anything, I suggest finding a spot in the stands so you know exactly when he’s done with practice. Otherwise, he’ll duck out and you’ll miss him.”

“Noted,” I say.

“You might be here a while.” She punches the button to the elevator. “But I’m not sure how else you’re going to get your job done.” Once the elevator opens, she tells me the way to the ice, and then says, “Stop by my office any time. I’m here to help.”

“Thanks, Beverly,” I say.

“My friends call me Bev.”

I smile as the doors close, whisking her back up to her office several floors above where I’m now standing.

I hold up my lanyard and run my fingers over the glossy barcode. Is this real life? I’m working for the Chicago Comets! And I have benefits! I pull out my phone and snap a selfie of me and the lanyard, then open my text chat with my sisters:

Eloise

You guys! It’s happening! Your girl is official!

Poppy

Eeeek! I won’t lie, I’m a little jealous!

Raya

Stay focused, Eloise. This is a great opportunity.

I send a .gif of Rachel Dratch’s wide-eyed Debbie Downer from SNL and try not to roll my eyes at the fact that Raya doesn’t seem to have a fun bone in her body as I tuck my phone away.

Following Beverly’s instructions, I find the rink, and when I walk in, I’m struck by the sheer enormity of this facility. It’s owned by the Comets, but it’s open to the public, and is home to junior hockey, public skating, and all kinds of fun community events. Part of the team’s commitment to Chicago, I suppose.

Some of the practices are open to the public too, and off to the side, there’s a whole group of boys, watching the men glide with ease and power on the ice. Their faces are full of the kind of awe and wonder only kids with big pro hockey dreams can have.

I find a seat a few rows behind them when Dallas comes over to the group, removes his helmet, and flashes that smile that probably made Poppy fall in love with him in the first place.

The boys crowd forward, handing him hockey sticks to sign, and Dallas asks, “You guys have your skates?”

A collective response of excitement washes through the small crowd. A few minutes later, Dallas is leading them out onto the ice.

The other guys on the team join their captain in a good-natured, if very gentle, scrimmage. As my eyes drift around the ice, I notice that Gray isn’t participating. He’s standing off to the side, watching.

As his assistant, not his PR manager, this is not my job. I shouldn’t even care about this. It doesn’t matter to me if he’s a jerk to a bunch of kids.

But also, it kind of does. It says a lot about his character, in my opinion.

Because who’s a jerk to a bunch of kids?

After about ten minutes, he skates over to Dallas. I hear him say, “Can we get back to practice now?”

“In a few minutes,” Dallas says.

Gray looks like he’s about to punch Dallas, and one of the kids skates over to him. “Can you sign my stick?”

Gray pulls his attention from Dallas to the kid, scribbles on the stick, then skates off the ice.

“Practice isn’t over, Hawke,” Dallas calls after him.

“This isn’t practice, Captain.” He practically spits the word, killing the entire mood on the ice.

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