Page 17 of Ice Queen

She scans her badge and, what I’m assuming is the employee entrance, pops open. The hallway is bright and quiet, but the undercurrent of a heavy beat vibrates through it. My eyes trail over pictures of men in the most ridiculous of poses that have been stuck to the wall.

Abby follows my line of sight and pulls one off. “This is one of my best friends, Lucas Monroe, and my brother-in-law, Greyson Wilder.” Her soft laugh is breathy and full of adoration. “We took them to a photo studio for Christmas and had them all do the most ridiculous poses. We gave it to Monroe’s wife, Scarlett, for her ‘push present.’ Something to make her laugh, she had a rough couple of years.”

The men are lying on the floor with the blonde one, who she told me was Lucas, on top of the other man. It honestly looks like something from the movie Step Brothers. But the camaraderie is something I read about a lot. That whole “found family” thing, something I’ve never been lucky enough to be a part of.

She hangs it back in its spot, and we move further into the long corridor filled with offices. I read the names and the many positions that people hold here, and I didn’t realize there were that many people required to keep up a hockey team. It’s pretty impressive.

“Hey, Caroline. I’ve got a favor to ask,” Abby sings as we step into the doorway of her office.

The space is cozy, pictures of the team and what I’m assuming are her family members line the walls. There are multiple coffee figurines stashed around her desk and the shelves behind it. Which reminds me, I should stop and see Maria. She said something about making coffee based on book boyfriends. Where she got that idea, I don’t know, but who am I to argue?

“Kaitlyn,” Abby’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Hmm?” I say, tuning back into the conversation.

“Are you okay?” Abby asks, her eyes trace over me. Realizing I zoned out and have no idea what she was saying, my cheeks heat. Damn it, Kaitlyn. Pay attention.

“Sorry,” I quickly add. “I just… Um. They have this new coffee at Beautiful Pour, it’s called Brewbie Trap.” My heart is pounding in my ears, and truthfully, it shouldn’t be possible to be this hot in a literal ice rink. But deflecting seems like the thing to do.

“Love that place,” Caroline says, a dreamy sigh escaping her lips as she leans back in her chair.

“Ditto,” Abby chimes in. Her eyes linger on mine, warm yet curious for half a second longer than I’m comfortable with.

“So, anyway, where were we?” I ask, desperate to get their attention off of me.

Caroline taps her pen against the notebook sitting in the middle of her desk. “I’ll move your table, not a problem.”

My lips part as my jaw relaxes. “Oh, perfect. Thank you!”

She gives me a tight-lipped smile, and for some reason, that unsettles me. “I mean, if it’s too much of a problem, don’t worry about it. I can stay where I am. I don’t want to be difficult.”

Caroline’s laugh bounces around her office like a spring. “Honey, I work with athletes every day. It’s like pulling teeth to get them to do anything. You.” She points the tip of her pen at me. “Are the furthest thing from difficult.”

“I just don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.” The zipper tab on my jacket moves back and forth under my thumb.

The silence that follows is the kind I used to spend hours trying to get a read on. Walking on eggshells, doing whatever I could to stay out of his way.

Abby’s hand lands softly on my shoulder, “We’re women who work for a men’s hockey team, we’ve learned how to take up the space we deserve. And that doesn’t happen by not speaking up for ourselves. Us women stick together. If she says it’s no problem, it’s no problem.”

My tongue feels like it’s too big for my mouth, which is suddenly bone dry. I wonder if they can see my thoughts hanging in the air like subtitles. “Okay,” I finally say.

The words feel too loud in the room, my shoulders stay tense, waiting for someone to sigh, to backtrack, to jump out and say, “SIKE! You’re a pain in the ass.”

But they don’t. Caroline gives me a small nod before turning back to her computer.

Abby gives my shoulder a quick squeeze before gently dropping her hand. Then a thought crosses my mind as the warmth of it fades. When was the last time someone cared enough to check in with me? Then call me on my bullshit, that I’m clearly not that great at hiding. I don’t even remember.

I exhale. There are no consequences. No resentment. No subtle shift in the air.

I follow Abby out of the office, my steps measured, careful as they squeak against the overly polished floor. My mind runs through our interaction again and again, searching for any indication that I’ll pay for this later. But all I find is space to exist.

Space I didn’t have to earn. Space, I didn’t have to apologize for taking up.

The door quietly clicks shut behind us, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t jump to fill the silence with the first thing that comes to mind. Maybe later I’ll convince myself this was a fluke of epic proportions.

I’ve never been to a hockey game, especially not an NHL game. I wanted to go with Wyatt, but he’d always tell me the games and the box his family owned were for business deals, not enjoyment. He’d tell me how boring they were, and how I’d be much happier at home, out of the cold, because I hated it so much.

Here, though, with the hustle and bustle of the arena, I kind of wish I had fought a little harder to go. The energy in here is amazing. The speakers cut in overhead, and an unexpected wall of sound hits before I’m ready for it. My hands slam over my ears, and I breathe through the first wave of it, letting my shoulder drop, forcing my jaw to unclench. You’re okay.