Page 1 of Shootout
PROLOGUE
~~Jessie~~
Using my key card, I entered the Seattle Sockeyes’ inner sanctum. Tomorrow I’d start my new job as a player development coach in their youth program.
This job was a dream come true and the culmination of a lifetime of work grinding away to break into the coaching ranks of a male-dominated sport. I know it wasn’t as if I were coaching in the NHL, but it was a stepping-stone, and I was only twenty-eight with big aspirations.
Tonight, I’d calm my nerves the way I always did—by skating. Skating wasn’t just my livelihood but my life. My everything. Especially since Rick and I broke up a year ago or took a break, as he called it. That was the problem, though. A break implied we’d stay in touch, but we didn’t. I’d forced myself to move on. Leaving Minnesota for Seattle was my first step toward that goal, even though I’d left my heart behind.
Sockeye training camp hadn’t begun yet, and the place was deserted, including the pro rink. The other two rinks in the facility were currently hosting open skates or games, leaving this one as the most viable option. Besides, I loved skating on professional ice. There was just something different about it. Not that the ice in the other two rinks wasn’t fantastic, but this rink was special. Everything was done meticulously to make sure the team had the perfect playing surface.
Even better, I’d have it all to myself, as this rink wasn’t in use tonight. I slipped into the guest locker room, finding it as empty as the rest of the area.
I sat down on the nearest bench and pulled on the figure skates I’d rented. I preferred hockey skates, but I hadn’t brought mine to the facility today as I hadn’t planned on skating. When I’d gone to the rental booth, all they had left in my size were these figure skates.
Once I was laced up, I trudged through the hallway to the rink entrance. The second my skates hit the ice, all my earlier troubles and concerns melted away. The hypnoticswish-swishof my skates became my world.
I leisurely made a couple circuits around the rink, getting a feel for these unfamiliar blades and how they meshed with the ice. I sprinted the length of the rink and executed a hockey stop. My skates didn’t dig into the ice as I was accustomed to, and I flailed my arms to keep my balance, reminding myself they weren’t designed for quick starts and stops. I’d make do. I wasn’t going to play hockey in them.
After a few more large circles, I’d gotten acquainted with my skates. The magic I always felt on the ice began. I was in my zone, completely at one with the ice. Loose and relaxed, I skated along the boards and picked up speed with each lap until my legs strained and my heart pumped. On the verge of being gassed, I pushed harder to get more out of my body.
My legs threatened to collapse underneath me, and my heart pounded so hard I heard it with my own ears. I leaned down, hands on my knees, and glided until my lungs stopped screaming for more air and the beating against my rib cage lessened.
A strange feeling came over me, like a shiver down my spine or someone blowing on my neck. I glanced around but didn’t see anyone. Still, I had this feeling I was being watched. The rink was dim as I’d only turned on one bank of lights, and the bleachers on either side were shrouded in darkness.
I chastised myself for being concerned. A security guy or a janitor had probably entered to see who was using this space. I had every right to be here as a member of the coaching staff. If the organization hadn’t wanted me in this part of the building, my key card wouldn’t have allowed access.
I abandoned my circle and skated along the boards, searching the bleachers for an interloper. Once I explained who I was, I hoped they’d leave me alone. I didn’t have to wonder for long. A man walked out of the shadows and stepped onto the ice. He wore hockey skates and workout gear, no pads. I blinked a few times and squinted to get a better look at him.
This was no security guard or janitor. He had an air of superiority and arrogance, not to mention the muscled body of a professional athlete was clearly visible as he wore workout clothes rather than hockey gear.
He looked familiar, and his name came rushing to me. Anyone who followed hockey would recognize this guy. I’d read about his recent trade to the Sockeyes. One of the bad boys of the league and a premier forward.
Banks Slater scowled as he purposely skated toward me. Annoyance was etched on that handsome face, though I had no idea what he had to be annoyed about.
Of course, no recognition shone in his eyes. Despite all my hockey accolades, medals, and awards, he had no clue who I was. Hockey was still a man’s world, after all. His cluelessness broiled in my gut, drawing out more anger and indignation. Being disregarded because of my gender was nothing new to me. Shit, I’d been dealing with it since childhood when I’d opted for hockey skates instead of figure skates, much to my mother’s absolute dismay. She’d been a competitive figure skater and a good one, even making one Olympic team. My dad, on the other hand, had been a professional hockey player, just as my grandfather had been, along with an uncle. Instead of being excited his daughter had chosen hockey over figure skating, he’d discouraged my choice at first. After all, he had two boys who were following in his footsteps. He didn’t need a mere girl to muddy the waters. After a while, he determined I wasn’t going to give up, and he grudgingly accepted my determination to be a hockey player, even if he didn’t agree I’d made the best decision. As he was so fond of saying, it’s very difficult for a woman to make a good living in hockey. I didn’t need him to remind me.
“Who are you?” Slater demanded as if he owned the place. His entitlement rankled me. If I’d been a guy skating in this arena, I doubted he’d question why I was there.
“None of your fucking business,” I shot back, knowing I was taking his remarks too personally, but when had that ever stopped me?
His scowl deepened, and I laughed, amused by his indignation.
“What’s the matter? Don’t like sharing your rink with a girl?”
His expression softened slightly, and he shook his head. “That has nothing to do with it. This is the Sockeyes practice rink, and you’re obviously a figure skater.”
“What makes you think that?” I perched my hands on my hips and stuck out my chin.
He glared pointedly at my white skates, which I’d forgotten I was wearing.
“Oh, I borrowed these. They aren’t mine. I prefer hockey skates.” I waited for recognition to dawn on him. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He snorted as if not believing me. “Sure. Whatever.”
I bristled like a cat attempting to intimidate a dog. “What does that mean?”
“Do you have permission to be in this rink?” he demanded with too much self-righteous irritation.
