“I guess.”
“So, how’s hockey?” Like me, Ashton had started playing hockey at a young age and was a star player at North Dakota University.
“Good. Having a decent season, though I’ve been in a slump the last couple of weeks.”
“Get out of your head,” I told him. “Just let your body do the work. It knows what to do. If you start thinking about shit, you mess with your vibe.”
“You coming to any games?” he asked. “Haven’t seen you since the season opener.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Work is crazy. But I’ll get there after the first of the year. Promise.”
“Cool.”
“I’ll let you know what I find out about the rink and we’ll go from there, okay?”
“Yup. Talk soon.”
“Love you, kiddo.”
“You too!” He disconnected and I chuckled to myself. They drove me crazy sometimes, but my brothers were awesome.
There were no brand-name hotels in Garland Grove, so I’d booked a room at a small bed and breakfast called the Christmas Mountain B&B. My room was clean and spacious, and the four-poster bed was comfortable. I propped myself against the headboard and turned on the TV as I scrolled through my email on my laptop. Normally, I wouldn’t dream of going to bed this early but I had a lot going on with the new hockey team and my day would probably start at five in the morning tomorrow.
When I’d been drafted to play pro hockey at eighteen, I’d never dreamed that an unknown heart defect would force me into retirement at thirty or that I’d subsequently make hundreds of millions by starting a line of sporting goods. And if anyone had suggested I was going to buy an NHL hockey team of my own someday, I’d have laughed in their faces. Yet here I was.
My father had made it clear that his sons had to make it on their own before getting any of his money, though that hadn’t really applied to me since I’d gone pro at eighteen. I’d played two seasons in the minor leagues before getting called up and after that, I hadn’t needed him or his money. I’d had the option of going to college—Dad offered to pay for all of us to go—but professional hockey was far more of a temptation. Kingston had gone to Juilliard and studied music, shocking the hell out of everyone when he went from classical violin and piano to hard rock, but he was so damn talented.
Ashton was more like me, taking my advice about going to college because we’d seen firsthand how unexpectedly a professional athlete’s career could end. The same heart defect that had ended my career had ended Dad’s life, because he’d been too stubborn to get it looked at or have the corrective surgery. Kingston and Ashton had been tested as well, and they were okay, which had been a huge relief, but Dad had thought he was invincible.
So had I once upon a time. Then there had been the heart attack. Right on the ice, in the middle of a game. One of my teammates had started chest compressions as they yelled for a team doctor and paramedics. The story I’d been told, since I didn’t remember this part at all, was that they’d used the defibrillator to shock my heart three times before it started beating again. I’d had surgery that night and I’d retired six months later.
My life was good—great, even—so I didn’t like to dwell on the past but I would have been lying if I said I didn’t miss hockey. That was a big part of the reason I’d been excited about buying an expansion team. Just being in an arena every day, being part of the day-to-day process of running a team, would help fill that empty part of my soul. It wouldn’t be the same as actually playing, but it would help. I’d been involved with the business end of things, for a team that didn’t exist yet, and I was already obsessed. I couldn’t wait for the Lauderdale Knights to become a reality.
An urgent succession of knocks on the door made me jump and I got out of bed, walking over to peer through the peephole.
“Mr. Knight? It’s Rudy.” The owner of the bed and breakfast stood outside the door.
“Hi.” I opened the door.
“Sorry to bother you, but there’s a fire down at the rink and we’re going down to see if anyone needs help. I just wanted you to know there wouldn’t be anyone on-site in case you need something but—”
“Wait, did you say the rink? The Garland Grove Ice Arena?” I asked.
“That’s the only one in town.”
“The arena I just inherited from my father?” I turned and started digging around in my suitcase for my sneakers. “Wait for me—I’m coming too!”
Chapter Two
Noelle
* * *
I’d just gotten out of the shower when I smelled the smoke. The smell was too strong to be coming from outside, but I couldn’t imagine what might be causing smoke. I dried off quickly, yanking on sweats and a long-sleeve T-shirt before stuffing my feet in my sandals and hurrying out of the locker room.
When I got into the hallway, it was filled with smoke and I turned around, going back into the locker room to grab my duffel bag and phone. If there was a fire, there was no way I’d leave any of my meager belongings to burn. I wasn’t particularly worried yet, since the arena was old and run-down. Things broke and went wrong all the time, so I tended to take things like this in stride.
The smoke was pretty thick, though.
Opting to err on the side of caution, I turned right and headed down to one of the emergency exits. Once I was outside, I could call our maintenance man, Dwayne, and have him come down to see what was going on.
I opened the door and was immediately assaulted by a combination of ice-cold wind and a barrage of lights and sounds. There were at least three fire trucks and five police cars, all with lights flashing, surrounded by dozens of people.
“Noelle!” I turned to see Dwayne hurrying toward me.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“You weren’t answering your phone!” he said, breathing hard. “They wouldn’t let me in to look for you.”
“I was in the shower,” I said weakly, looking around. “What’s going on?”
“Zamboni caught on fire, which spread to a bunch of stuff in the storage rooms too. They have it under control but you scared the crap out of me, girl.” He gave me a hard look and I swallowed uncomfortably.
Dwayne was my friend, my coworker, and one of the only people who sort of knew my secret.
“Is this her?” One of the policemen came running over to us.
“Yes. She was in the shower.”
“I had no idea something was wrong,” I said quietly. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I spilled ketchup on myself when I was closing down the concession stand, so I thought I’d shower…”
The policeman nodded. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
“I am. Thank you all for thinking of me.”
“You look cold,” Dwayne said, taking off his jacket. “Here.”
“That’s okay, I’ll just go to my car and—”
“Parking lot’s closed right now.” He dropped the jacket over my shoulders. “And your damn hair is wet.” He shook his head. “You can’t keep this up, Noelle.”