“I’m sorry.” Emma knew her voice sounded off; whenever people told her personal things, she could never find the right things to say to make them feel better or supported. Instead, she stuck with formal apologies or silence, hoping it would ease her discomfort at the personal nature of the conversation as much as it would ease the speaker.
Kyle shrugged, shaking his head as though it was no big deal. “I have my mom, you know?”
Obviously the question was rhetorical, but the words stumbled out of Emma’s mouth before she could stop them. “No,” she murmured. “I don’t know.” She glanced up and saw that he was about to say something much like her own tacky apology, and if anything made her feel more uncomfortable than people sharing their intimate details of their life, it was being on the receiving end of one of those bullshit apologies. Which was why, under normal circumstances, she didn’t talk about things like that.
“You kind of sound like you have an accent,” she said, hoping to change the subject before he could say anything. His eyes caught hold of hers, and for a moment, Emma felt as though he could see through her cool exterior, as though he knew what she was doing.
“I’m from Canada,” he replied, causing Emma to release a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.
He knew what she did and let her get away with it.
Before anything else could transpire between the two, Kyle’s name pierced the low murmurings of the crowd that had gathered. Both figures turned to see the only player Emma recognized by sight and actually knew the name of; Matt Peters, the Gulls’ team captain. She could see the many tattoos crawl up and down his arms, sliding in and out of the loose material of the v-necked shirt he was wearing as gestured for his teammate to come over to where he was at.
“There are some people who want to meet you,” he called.
Kyle nodded but didn’t respond. He turned to Emma and gave her a grin that seemed to have some sort of affect on her heart because it jumped out of its normal beating pattern. “It was nice to meet you, Emma Winsor,” he said, and now that he mentioned it, Emma could detect the subtle Canadian accent laced through his voice. “I’ll see you around.”
Though it was a statement, Emma still felt compelled to answer. “I’m sure you will,” she said.
3. Even now, with her bare feet swallowed by the warm, smooth sand and the sound of the small waves crashing into the shore, Madison Montgomery could not believe she was at the beach for the first of several charitable events the Seagulls hosted before, during, and after their hockey season. The disbelief did not stem from the fact that she was there, present, or that she was at a hockey-related beach party. It was that she was there as a Gulls Girl, dressed in nothing but a micro bikini, doing most of the brunt work due to her ranking as a rookie.
When Madison came out to California from a small town in Michigan, she never would have thought that she, out of all people, would apply for the position of a Gulls Girl. Not that they were bad or immoral or anything like that. In fact, she regarded Gulls Girls and similar ice girls for different hockey teams to be much classier than cheerleaders and Hooters girls. They didn’t have to cheer or dance or do anything blatantly exploitive; all they had to do was scrape ice off the rink during breaks as fast as they could throughout a game while maintaining a big smile and looking pretty. Sure, their outfits were revealing and the makeup could be a little dramatic, but nothing compared to the short skirts or the face paint cheerleaders wore. And while it was practically a requirement that she portray a coy happiness and perhaps engage in flirtatious banter when necessary, she didn’t have to on constantly.
She heard about the auditions through a bulletin board she happened to pass while exploring the campus of the University of California, Irvine, and after reading the requirements and expectations, she realized that maybe she could give it a try. She didn’t actually think she’d be called back for an extensive interview, and on top of that, get the position, especially since one characteristic that was necessary was passion for the Gulls. Even more than that, she didn’t expect to have to provide her academic transcript, but one of requirements to get and maintain a position as a Gulls Girl was to have a grade point average of at least a 3.0 if they were students. After talking to other Girls, Madison learned that the owner of the Gulls, Ken Brown, implemented that himself, which meant that every other team’s ice crew didn’t have to keep up with their studies on top of work. This seemed to frustrate a lot of the Girls, but it made Madison respect the owner even more than she might have; intelligence was just as much of a requirement as was good looks. Still, it was just a job, and that was that.
Hockey had never been important to her, but her father was really into it so she just channeled one of his long rant-like explanations about why he loved the Detroit Kings so much, making key changes such as the team name, when asked about what made her enthusiastic about being a Gulls Girl. But in past few weeks, as she spent more and more time with her fellow Girls, who really were passionate about the Gulls, the excitement at the start of the upcoming season rubbed off on her.
But there were moments when she wished that she hadn’t made the team. Like right now.
Madison grew up in a conservative family, and though she liked wearing shorts and low-cut tops, she wasn’t completely comfortable showing off so much skin in one setting. Yes, she was at the beach, and yes, she expected that being oogled at by middle-aged, slightly drunk hockey fans would be part of the job, but that logic didn’t do anything to help her relax. Especially not when the season was supposed to start in a manner of weeks, and not only that, but their first preseason game – her official debut as a Gulls Girl, so to speak – was in six days, and school was supposed to start around the same time…
Calm down, Mad. Breathe.
She didn’t deal with stress well.
Try to focus on something else.
Her eyes skimmed the crowd and zeroed in on a girl, probably her age, grab a hot dog and pile on condiments. She felt her lips curl up into a smile at the sight – it was nice to see women around here eat like they meant it – and Madison felt her shoulders loosen up. Turning, she continued on with menial task her captain, Faye Winchester, assigned her to; restocking the drinks, which basically meant taking soda, beer, and water and placing them in ice coolers. And, when somebody asked for something, she was supposed to grab one, smile, and engage in a brief but memorable conversation. Luckily for Madison, her friend Amanda Vaughn volunteered to help her.
Amanda would have been the perfect cheerleader, or so Madison kept telling her. She was peppy and naturally happy. People were just drawn to her excitement, including Madison, and there were moments when she was thankful she had Amanda with her or else she’d feel more alone than she currently did. On top of that, Amanda knew everything about everyone, and though she wasn’t a mean gossip, she was still a gossip. This came in handy because Madison had yet to learn the names, faces, numbers, and positions of the Gulls, and since all Madison and Amanda could do was stand still and hand out beverages to anybody who happened to be parched, both agreed that now was the perfect time to help Madison increase her knowledge.
“Okay, let’s start with the easy one,” Amanda began, once some housewife with a bottle of Evian was out of earshot. “See the guy with that light blue shirt on and all those tattoos?” Madison nodded. “He’s Matthew Peters, the team captain. He plays center forward. Number twenty. He’s been dating Katella Hanson for two years now – she’s Ken Brown’s oldest granddaughter. The two are so cute together.”
Madison took in the olive skin, the short dark brown hair combed to the back. His face was narrow and sharp, his eyes one shade lighter than his hair color. Tattoos seemed to be swimming over every crevice of his body, and yet, as he smiled while talking to somebody, he didn’t seem as intimidating as one might first assume.
“Where is Katella?” Madison asked, looking over at her friend.
Amanda’s already pale face seemed to pale even more, causi
ng the freckles that were splashed across her face to stand out even more than they already did. “Oh.” She swallowed, her expressive brown eyes glancing around, at everything save for Madison herself. “Um, well…” She sighed, and Madison wondered if it was genuine or dramatic flair. “Katella’s probably with Seraphina, her sister, you know, because of… Well… Ken, the owner?” Again, she looked around, this time as though she was checking up to make sure no one could overhear their conversation. “Well, he passed away. He’s dead.”
“Oh.” It was more of a yelp then a word. Madison rolled her shoulders back in order to try and get a bit more comfortable. “I’m sorry. Was it natural causes?”
“Oh no.” The question seemed to surprise her. “He was murdered?”
“Murdered?” Okay, Madison highly doubted that rolling her shoulders back was going to take care of the discomfort that was slowly starting to tighten in the muscles between her shoulder blades.
“Well,” Amanda said in a whisper, “that’s what they’re saying. That’s why Katella and Seraphina aren’t here, even though Katella normally coordinates all Gulls activities and Seraphina is rumored to be taking over for Ken.”
Madison blinked a few times before shaking her head. “Wow,” she murmured more to herself than to her friend. “That’s horrible.”
Because, really, what else could she say?
Amanda nodded solemnly. “Yeah…” She sighed through her nose. “Not to be crude or anything, but maybe we should keep talking about who the players are and that sort of thing.”
Madison nodded but couldn’t find the words to say anything. She couldn’t even imagine what it was like to inherit a lackluster hockey team – at least, that’s what she heard from her father about the Gulls – due to the death of a family member, and so close to the beginning of the season. Both women must be under a lot of stress.
“Why is this going on?” Madison asked somewhat abruptly, even for her. At Amanda’s curious look, she explained, “I mean, if the owner’s passed and in such an awful way, isn’t it a little disrespectful to be throwing this event?”
“No, I think the sisters wanted this to go on,” Amanda said. “Even with everything going on.” Then she pointed at someone across to the ocean to a man walking away from the girl Madison recognized as the one who had grabbed the hot dog from before. “See him? That’s Kyle Underwood. Left forward. Number sixteen.”
Madison took in the sight of the tall, lanky forward. He had broad shoulders that were revealed quite nicely underneath a white wife beater, and, if she was being honest, a nice looking torso. But Madison had always favored more muscle on her preferred choice in a mate, and while Kyle was tall and fit, he wasn’t as beefy as she would have preferred. Of course, as a Gulls Girl, she was strictly forbidden to socialize with the players outside a professional context, but it wasn’t prohibited to look. Kyle also possessed a rather boyish face, and even though Amanda mentioned that he was twenty-five, he could easily pass for nineteen. But he had striking, clear, blue eyes, short, strawberry blond hair, and a nicely structured face which happened to be turning red simply because of the sun’s powerful rays.
Cute. Definitely cute.
“He’s not dating anybody right now, I don’t think,” Amanda continued. “Which is too bad. He’s a beast on the ice, but I hear he’s a shy guy in real life. Like a closet romantic or something adorable like that.”
Madison nodded politely, but none of the information registered. She wasn’t too keen on dating anybody really right now; she needed to focus on school and this job, as stereotypical as it sounded.
“And over there, sipping a beer kind of off to the side by himself. You see him?”
Madison looked over to where Amanda was pointing, through the clumps of people who naturally formed cliques with people they feel most comfortable with, laughing and talking and smiling – Madison wondered if it was real or if it was just another front put on by people with too many insecurities to keep track of – to a guy, off to the side who was, in fact, by himself, staring out at the sea as though he was contemplating something deep. She nodded, tearing her eyes away from him in order to look at Amanda.
“That’s Brandon Thorpe,” she said.
“Brandon Thorpe,” Madison asked, furrowing her brow. “How do I know that name?”
“Could have heard it on the news,” Amanda said. “There’s some drama going on with him at the center of it. But that’s pretty much been pushed to the wayside, what with Ken’s death. Although hockey never really gets on the local news… Anyways, Thorpe is the goaltender. Number nineteen. He’s one of, if not the, best in the league. I guess he wanted more money – he was supposed to resign with the Gulls last week, but decided to hold out for an increase in salary.”
“Was Ken going to give it to him?” Madison asked, her eyes fixed on Thorpe taking a sip of his beer.
“I’m not sure but I don’t think so,” Amanda said, shaking her head so her carrot-colored curls followed. “I’ve only met Ken through these events and that second interview, but from what I hear, he didn’t seem like the type to just hand out raises no matter how well the player performed.”
“So is he going to play?”
Amanda shrugged, making such a crude act look graceful. “As far as I know, he never signed with Ken,” she said. “But who knows? Maybe what with Ken being dead, Thorpe might review his priorities and jump on board while he still can.”
“Or, if he really is as greedy as you say he is, he might try and take advantage of this Seraphina girl, especially if she’s inexperienced with running a hockey team,” Madison murmured.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Amanda said, and she, too, looked out at the topic of the conversation. “I mean, yeah, Brandon’s kind of full of himself as a hockey player and he seems kind of snobbish because he rarely, if ever, hangs out with the team, socialize, and look at him now; these events are for the players to interact with their fans and he’s being standoffish and unapproachable. But…” She blushed and her entire face turned red.
“But what?” Madison asked after what she felt was an appropriate time of silence for Amanda to continue.
“I don’t know why, but I get this feeling that there’s something more to him,” she said almost shyly, surprising Madison because in the weeks that she had known Amanda, she had never heard her red-headed friend sounding shy. “I can’t exactly explain it, and I could definitely be wrong, but I just think… I don’t know. He’s the one guy on the team I can’t put my finger on. I never really see him with a woman, so I don’t think he’s involved with anyone which could mean he’s gay, but I’ve seen him check out some of the Gulls Girls before, so I don’t think that’s it.” She shook her head, stopping herself physically from continuing her tangent. “Anyways, he’s pretty quiet. Brooding, I guess.”
Madison looked at him once again, knowing in a manner of seconds, Amanda would move on to the next player, in order to take in his physical appearance. In truth, he kind of looked like a geek, what with ears that were slightly too big, a firm jaw decorated by brown whiskers that were too few to actually compose a beard and successfully minimized the somewhat large gap between his lips and chin. His short brown hair was unkempt and stray locks scattered across his face. He was tall, at least six feet but probably a couple of inches taller, and had broad shoulders and a well-built frame. His lips curled around the neck of the bottle, and even though she tried to garner the color of his eyes, Madison was too far away to say one way or the other with certainty.
“Oh, and over there is Dimitri Petrov,” Amanda said, pointing to a man with a woman by his side, laughing with people who Madison assumed were a couple of fans. “He’s the one with the whispy brown hair that looks like if you turned a fan, he’d totally get into letting the wind blow through it.” The two girls shared a laugh because, looking at him, Madison agreed with Amanda’s assessment of Dimitri’s hair. “He’s super-sweet. Just a fun guy, you know? He’s forty-one and still loves the ga
me as much as he did when he started out in his native Russia at eighteen. And before you ask, yes, he has an amazing accent. Anyways, he’s part of the second line. Right forward. Number three. He’s married to the woman standing next to him, totally in love with her still after eighteen years of marriage. Has three kids. He’s a fan favorite, a legend.
“See that guy talking to those girls? That’s Michael Thompson. He’s a rookie. Left defenseman. Can you believe he’s only nineteen years old? I feel like such a perv when I check him out.”
Madison grinned. “Nineteen technically means legal,” she pointed out. “And you’re only twenty-one yourself. You could totally pull off the whole cougar thing.”
“Oh shut up,” Amanda said, rolling her eyes even though her face turned red once again. “Anyways, he’s number five.”
“You know, he’s not that bad,” Madison said, and even though he wasn’t exactly her type, even Madison was charmed by his boyish smile. And what with those California blue eyes and golden brown hair, Madison was certain that once he began to play on the ice, he would not be in want of any female admirers, and in fact, already seemed to acquire some.
Amanda continued to point out players and give Madison all the information she deemed necessary, such as a player’s current relationship status rather than whether or not they went to college. Despite the fact that Madison was a fast learner, even she struggled with getting the names and faces straight. And she hadn’t yet factored into position or number. But Amanda was patient, and pointed out the rest of the defensemen, the rest of the second line, the backup goalie Sam Miller.
“Who’s that?” Madison asked after handing out another beer to a fan who commented on her barely-there bikini, making some sort of joke that she heard at least seven times since arriving here.
Amanda looked over to see just who she was pointing at, and a small frown touched her face. “Oh, I can’t believe I missed him,” she said. “That’s Alec Schumacher. He’s part of the first line, with Kyle and Matt. Plays right forward. Number seventeen.”
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