Page 4 of Meant for Mayhem

“And what a beaut you are.” Logan donned his helmet and slipped on his gloves. “A tiny princess for our big bad Giant.”

They all filtered out of the locker room, and I sat there, still in my undershirt and lower body gear.

“Let’s watch the game in here for a bit,” Frankie said once the room was quiet. He pushed a folding chair out in front of him, propped his feet up and still held my arm, monitoring my pulse.

The TV hanging on the wall showed my teammates back on the ice. Meanwhile, I sat here, unprepared and barely breathing.

But my daughter was.

I should have been watching the game, but all I could see was her back, rising and falling on the grainy screen.

By the time the game was over, I was dead on my feet and counting the minutes until the plane touched down in Denver. My teammates filed up the metal stairs on the tarmac and ducked under the door to our private plane, same as always. But Coach Tremblay, Frankie, and our General Manager, Camille Bouchard, sitting at a table and staring at me told me tonight was not the same as always.

“Mikko,” Camille said when I neared, then pointed a long red nail at the seat across from her. “Join us.”

I looked between them, taking in the mismatched appearances of this group. Coach had changed out of his suit and was wearing a Yeti quarter-zip, like Frankie. But Camille was dressed head to toe in black, her dark hair curled and styled as if she were ready for a boardroom, not a somewhat rowdy plane full of athletes. She wasn’t smiling, but that wasn’t abnormal for our stoic GM, commanding respect with both her team’s performance and her professionalism.

My feet stopped, but my pulse raced again. “I’d rather sleep.”

“She didn’t ask what you wanted,” Coach said. “Sit.”

“I’m gonna skooch on by.” Logan moved from behind me, pointing at the row directly behind Coach and carrying a stack of food between his plate and chin.

“Uh, that’s my seat?” Connor Briggs said. This was his rookie season, and rookies knew they got the worst seats on the plane.

“Not today, it isn’t.” Logan propped his feet up on the armrest between Coach and Camille, waving at the poker game he usually led. “Consider it an upgrade, Briggsy. Deal him in, boys.”

“Parrish.” Coach’s tone held a warning, pushing Logan’s socked feet back down to the floor.

“What?” Logan ate the last of his post-game sandwich, then pulled his beanie down over his eyes. “The boys are too chatty tonight, talking about paninis or something. Since I already know that chicken pesto is the elite panini, I don’t need to participate in that conversation.”

He put his headphones on over his hat, but they weren’t even close to his ears, fooling no one into believing my best friend wasn’t eavesdropping on whatever they had to say to me.

Coach pointed at the empty seat. “Are you going to sit down, Laaksonen, or stand there the entire flight?”

My jaw ticked, worry rising in me the longer Camille watched me. Sure, tonight was bad, but for Camille to be here on the plane with us?

I was in trouble.

“I’m fine,” I said, dropping into the seat next to Frankie.

“And I’m going to try synchronized swimming,” Frankie said. “Do I sink like a lead balloon? You bet. But we’re all in denial here, so why not?”

Logan snorted, then resumed his fake-asleep pose as the flight attendants walked down the aisle preparing us all for takeoff. I buckled my seatbelt, then leaned back in my chair, trying my best to find the calm I usually wore like a second skin.

“You’re not fine,” Camille’s tone was even—not unkind, but not soft, either. “And that’s understandable, given your circumstances this summer. So, let’s not waste time pretending otherwise.”

Immediately, my worry turned into defensiveness. “Do you pull aside every guy after he has a baby? Or is this just me?”

Camille crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, looking fiercer than either of the bigger men next to her. “Actually, yes, I do. Becoming a parent is an enormous responsibility, and one you’ve never had before. Your job is to show up and play hockey, but when you’re tired or your mind is elsewhere—and understandably so—” she added when I opened my mouth to argue “—that becomes my concern. My job is to watch out for both my players and my team, and that’s what I’m doing right now.”

I looked between Frankie and Coach, trying to get a read on the situation, but they both wore a sort of pitying expression I’d never seen before. And damn, if that didn’t piss me off more.

“It won’t happen again,” I said, my teeth grinding together. “I’m good.”

Frankie shook his head. “I sat with you while you had a panic attack in the locker room tonight.”

“That’s not⁠—”