“Right, sorry. It's just, you're standing in our office.” She turns back down the hallway. “Guys. Guys, come here.”
Within thirty seconds, there are five people standing in the reception area. A tall man in a pinstripe suit who introduces himself as David and shakes my hand twice.
A young woman named Eliza who takes a photo of me and the coffee tray without asking permission. Two associates introduce themselves, and I immediately forget, but they both tell me they've never watched hockey before and now they're going to start.
I hand out the coffees and open the pastry bags. Everyone grabs something, and for five minutes, I answer questions about the NHL.
Jasmine is leaning against the reception desk with her coffee and her almond Danish, her eyes soft and her lips curved into a smile.
“I have to go,” I say to her when the guys disperse. “Bus leaves at two.”
“Thank you for the coffee,” Jasmine says. “And for making my entire office's day.”
“Anytime.”
I step toward her and pull her into a hug. She comes easily, one arm around my waist, her cheek against my chest for a second.
“Good luck in Chicago,” Jasmine says.
“I'll call you when we land.”
“Okay.”
With one last glance at her, I head out.
In the elevator going down, I lean against the wall and exhale. My chest is buzzing, and I'm grinning like an idiot. The scent of her perfume is still on my jacket from the hug, and I bring my collar to my nose and breathe it in.
Smoky clove. I'm going to associate that scent with Jasmine Bennett for the rest of my life.
I drive back uptown to MSG, grab my bag from the back seat, and head to the team bus.
As soon as I step in, I’m hit by chaos. Someone has plugged their phone into the speaker system, and music is blasting from the speakers.
“Swift again?” Cole shouts from the front.
“It's a banger, Captain. Accept it,” Liam shouts back.
Jake is in the back row with his legs stretched across two seats, eating a sandwich the size of his head. Theo is on FaceTime with Olivia, holding the phone at arm's length so Maya can see the screen. She's babbling and waving, and Theo is making faces at her.
I stop and lean into the frame and pull a face. Maya squeals.
Theo shoves me away. “Get your own baby, Shaw.”
Laughing, I keep moving and drop into the seat next to Blake.
“About time,” he says. “Thought you weren't coming.”
“Had some errands to run. Took longer than I expected.”
We get to the New Jersey airport and board the charter, a Boeing 737 configured for the team. It has wide leather seats, extra legroom, and a section in the back for the coaching staff.
I take my usual seat, window, row six. Blake sits beside me.
The plane taxis and lifts off, and the New York skyline drops away beneath us. I put in my earbuds and lean my head against the window. The sun is low and gold across the clouds, and the hum of the engines fill the cabin.
The flight to Chicago takes about two hours. We're forty minutes in when a loud bang erupts from somewhere underneath the aircraft, deep and metallic, like something shearing loose.
The plane drops, and my stomach goes weightless. The overhead bins rattle and a bag falls out three rows behind me and hits the floor.
