Page 36 of Playing the Pucking Game
This is it. It’s really happening.
“You’ve got this,” I say to myself before pulling on my zip-up and hooking my purse over my shoulder.
Casey finished work early yesterday and swung by to pick me up so we could go shopping and collect my car, which was still sitting in the parking lot of my building. Thankfully, I had a key in my purse; otherwise, it would have been sitting there until I’m able to get into my apartment to see if it was useable or not.
At least I can be a little bit independent now and not rely on everyone else for every little thing.
Linc has been fantastic. Better than I could have ever hoped for. But it’s time for me to stand on my own two feet.
He has a job to focus on. Hell, so do I.
With butterflies rioting in my stomach, I make my way to the kitchen to grab a cereal bar I bought yesterday when I did some grocery shopping, and when I open the fridge for a bottle of water, I stop dead in my tracks.
There on the middle shelf is a travel cup with a Post-it note stuck to it.
Good luck today.
Pulling it free, I twist the top and find an iced coffee inside.
Shaking my head, I lift it to my lips and take a sip, too desperate for my morning hit now that it’s in my hand.
“Goddamn you, Lincoln Storm,” I complain after I swallow.
I slept like shit last night. Not only did I have the stress of rebuilding my life like a boulder in my stomach, but I also had the nerves for today.
Of course, it helps that I know almost every member of the team. I’ve hung out with them after most home games this season. And I trust what Linc said the other night—he’ll make sure that not a single one of them steps out of line. He doesn’t have the same kind of control over the other staff, though.
It’ll be fine.
No one is going to care you’re a woman.
They’ll all see you like a professional who is just as capable of doing her job as every man in the league.
With that little pep talk out of the way and my coffee in hand, I head toward the elevator to make this happen.
The drive to the arena passes in a heartbeat. As I pull into the lot I’ve been instructed to park in, I realize that I don’t remember a single second of the journey. Killing the engine, I rest my head back and close my eyes, trying to commit the moment to memory.
You did it, Parker.
You fucking did it.
Pulling my cell from the charger, I find a stream of notifications waiting for me.
Mom: Good luck today. Go smash it and call me later x
My stomach knots even tighter. I still haven’t called them.
Casey: Go and be the baddest bitch in the NHL. Make them all cry like little babies. Even Kodie. Just don’t tell him I said that.
I burst out laughing.
Rett: Good luck today. But don’t do too good a job. The cup is ours this year.
I roll my eyes. My brother is so predictable.
He might play for Seattle right now, but his heart belongs to the Vipers. It always has and always will. He’ll be stoked if the guys make it all the way. He might not have said anything, but when his contract with the Bandits ends in a few years, I don’t doubt that he’ll instruct his agent to try to do whatever it takes to get him on the Vipers’ roster.
As I’m sitting there, another message comes through.
