“I’m surprised there isn’t someone here who could do it.” All the support staff could skate and basically, that was the only requirement. That, and to be at least five feet ten so the costume would fit right.
Danny wouldn’t look her straight in the eye.
“Danny?” It dawned on her. “My father insisted I should be called, didn’t he?”
“I offered, but he said you should be the one. Sorry.”
Damn it. But lately her father didn’t approve of anything she put her mind to. You need to snap out of it, Pepper! No more of this aimless lack of application.
Of course, he didn’t think team mascot was a valid career, but he thought it might shock her into doing something real with her life.
Joke’s on you, Dad. I don’t mind this gig.
Few people in the Rebels org knew it was her, and she was determined it should stay that way. The press would find it hilarious that the former fiancée of a pro hockey player, daughter of a revered coach, and sister to a hot shot NHL winger, was reduced to this. Better to stay on the down-low. A figure of fun, high-fived by fans, punched by children—and sometimes their dads.
At least, it paid well and was the perfect cover for the invisibility-seeking gal about town.
“Okay, we’re just nearing the end of the first period.” Danny glanced at the screen over her head. “The crowd’s going nuts for Bast. Big night for him.”
She swallowed at the mention of his name. After their run-in at Jimmy’s Tap and her dedicated efforts to avoiding him ever since, she’d done her best to put him out of her mind. After all, she had an ex-fiancé renting space in her head; she certainly didn’t need another pro-athlete subletting.
However, living in a sports-mad town like Chicago meant it was difficult to avoid the news. Players and teams were always trending on Twitter, or showing up in her Facebook feed, or mysteriously appearing in search results. (So maybe not so mysterious. She’d been more than a little curious about the star Canadian with the God-given sporting prowess and the killer smile.)
This comeback game was all anyone could talk about. She’d tried to ignore it, which was hard to do when her brother insisted on reminding her with multiple texts over the last hour, telling her to say hello to his college buddy when she got the chance. (Apparently, her brother knew every other player in the NHL and had a heads-up on her performance this evening. Thanks, Dad.)
“Ready?”
“Lay it on me, Danno.”
Grinning, he helped her with the head. The first period timer was ticking down, which was her cue to skate onto the ice and do a few circuits dancing to Pink’s Get the Party Started. The song was over twenty years old but still yanked the crowd to their feet like no other.
Danny added blade guards to her skates and helped her upright. As he took her arm, he looked up at Rowdy’s eyes, about a foot north of Pepper’s actual eyes which were lined up with the mouth. Peripheral vision was not a thing in this costume, but that was generally okay. She was a good skater, and even with the top-heavy costume, she knew how to balance all 160 pounds of woman.
“Let’s do this,” she said, the sound muffled, but Danny understood well enough. He guided her down the tunnel, past the players coming off, who paid her little heed. Too busy hyped up over the first period, which had them two goals to the good.
“Great start, guys,” Danny called out, high-fiving a couple of the players as they passed. None of them looked at her, which was fine.
Invisible. Just how she liked it.
“Okay, when the last player comes off, that’s when you go on.”
Like she didn’t know how it worked!
All the players had filed by her, heading toward the locker room. One of them must have been Bast, though she hadn’t seen him, her efforts to ignore amazingly successful. At the entrance to the rink, Danny knelt and removed her blade guards.
“You ready?”
“Yep. See you in a few!”
“Go, Rowdy!” He called out just as she stepped onto the ice, her right foot taking a long stride to give her the momentum she needed to make an entrance.
That momentum took a hit as her skate collided with something.
Another skate.
Another skater.
They both went crashing to the ice.
The top-heavy Rowdy head weighed a ton, so all Pepper could do was look up at the arena ceiling through the costume’s mouth-hole, trapped on her back like a giant bug. She managed to move the head enough to turn to whatever she had plowed into, a prayer on a loop.
Please let it be an official. Please let it be an official.
No such luck—the blue of a Rebels jersey confirmed her worst fear. She’d hit a player.
Okay, this didn’t have to be a disaster. She moved down her list of wants.
Someone on the fourth line. Someone … disposable.
Through Rowdy’s mouth, she strained her eyes, trying to get some sense of her victim’s identity through the howl of pain echoing above the crowd noise.
A sweater emblazoned with the letters D-U-R ...
No, no, no. If it had to be one of them, let it be Reid. Reid was an asshole, but he’d eventually forgive her. Please let it not be …
Him.
It was Bast. And he was cradling his wrist, the one he’d broken last year.
No one was bothering with her, assuming the mascot costume had cushioned her from any real injury.
Though really it was because the Rebels’ most recent acquisition, the man, the legend, Bastian Durand, was flat out on his back in front of twenty thousand people. In this moment, no one cared about the stupid mascot.
Invisible, just like she’d wished.
8
The door to the office where Pepper had been stashed, for want of a better word, flew open. She hoped it was Danny, but alas, no.
Her father, John Calhoun—or Coach Calhoun as he was known in these parts—slammed the door behind him.
“What the hell, Pepper?”
“I thought the ice was clear. All the players were behind me in the tunnel, and Danny said I—”
“This isn’t Danny’s fault. You exploded onto that ice like a bull in a china shop, blind to everything around you!”
“That-that’s how the costume works, Dad. I have no peripheral vision.” She was relying on people to tell her it was clear. She had the go-ahead, or thought she had. “How is he?”
“Doc’s with him now. It might be a bruise or a sprain, but whatever it is, he’ll be out for weeks at minimum.”
“Oh. That’s awful.”
He looked exasperated, and absurdly, she understood. She had done nothing but disappoint him lately, not to mention herself. She just couldn’t seem to get her life out of first gear.
“Jesus, Pepper, I got you this job so you could make something of yourself. Get back some pride.”
“Not really much upward mobility in the mascot business, Dad.”
Too flippant. The disgusted downturn of his mouth agreed. “There’s only so long I can support you.”
“I don’t need your support, Dad.” At least not financially. “I have savings”—ever dwindling—“and I have my nannying gig.”
“You barely make enough to pay for your car. Pepper …” He paused, seemed to course-correct. “I just want you to be happy.”