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Seraphina reached the doorway to her office, and beyond her control, felt her body stop.  She almost died here.  Papa
did
die here.

There was a lot of history in this small room.

Pushing her memories aside, she stepped over the threshold and into the room.

“Papa, you should have installed a shower or something,” she muttered under her breath as she slipped her shoes off.  She wanted to wash away the memorial, change into some fresh clothes, but she didn’t have the time.  And she didn’t think to pack the extra clothes until that moment.

Technically, she could have gone down to the female locker rooms and showered there, but time was pressing.

She plopped into her chair, giving herself a few moments to herself, completely slouched over, before she had to sit up straight and look professional.  Seraphina made sure her heels were all the way under her desk in hopes that no one would be able to tell she was barefoot.  She might have to suffer through her funeral clothes, but right now, she didn’t have to suffer with those heels on.  Seraphina reached down to the bottom drawer and opened it.  She flipped through a few files before reaching in and grabbing a couple of documents, and then she placed them on the surface of her desk.  With a few minutes left before her meeting, she allowed herself that time to completely relax, sinking into her chair.

A now familiar knock on the door – soft, three taps – caused Seraphina to pick her head off of the chair.  She felt herself smile as she called her visitor in.

Brandon Thorpe walked into the room, closing the door behind him.  He took a seat across from Seraphina, and for the first time since she met him, she saw a sparkle occupying his pale green eyes that looked
nothing short of excited.  He looked so much younger too, though didn’t look like he was that much older than his twenty-nine years.  Even so, his face was still set in a controlled, passive look – as passive as someone who was also excited could be.  He was dressed in nice clothing – fitted black slacks and a white, long-sleeved collared shirt that was both iron and tucked in.  Seraphina noticed that there was effort on Brandon’s part to tame his unruly hair but he failed, as was evidenced by the brown locks going every which way.  This observation made the young woman’s smile deepen.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he began, “but I’m not going to apologize for your loss.”

Seraphina choked – on nothing – at his blunt statement but she threw her head back and started laughing that loud, guttural laugh that wasn’t all that flattering.

“I appreciate it,” she said when she got a hold of herself.  “It’s nice to know that with everything going on in my crazy life, I can count on you to still be a jerk.”

Instead of glaring at her or dismissing her insult with a cold look, his lips curled up into a genuine smile.  It was slightly crooked – another one of his physical flaws that, when added with the others, just seemed to work – and the lines around his eyes crinkled.  His eyes revealed surprise – little emotions began to shine through those green orbs, and Seraphina wanted to make sure she memorized every single one because otherwise it was hard to decipher just what the goaltender was thinking – probably at her abrupt statement concerning his character.  Seraphina didn’t care all that much; she figured that if he could dish it, certainly he could take it.

And she was trying to start living life as if she didn’t care what anyone else thought about her.

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding his head.  “You can always count on that.”

“So.”
  Seraphina sat up straighter, folding her arms together.  “Let’s get down to brass tax.  The season starts next week and we need to figure out some sort of resolution to the dilemma we have in that at least I am unsure about where you and I stand professionally.”  She wasn’t sure why she tacked on the last adjective, but for whatever reason, it was there and she couldn’t take it back.

“I would love to play,” Brandon said.  Even though Seraphina was getting used to Brandon Thorpe being blunt, it still took her aback by how blunt he could be.  If she had been in his position, she’d probably start off with something akin to small talk, a prologue to what she wanted before fitting her desire in there, and then rushing to thank them for the offer and the decision is really up to them.  Not Brandon.  And she had to admire that.  “But I’m not sure if you’re still willing to let me resign.  I’m sure you’ve seen the papers.”

Despite the fact that Simon Spade was announced as the killer, the press wasn’t very forgiving when it came to Brandon and his financial demands and lack of loyalty.  His unfavorable reputation only worsened because of this controversy even though, in the end, he was innocent of any violence, and the media wouldn’t let people forget that.  They were demanding Seraphina get rid of Brandon because of his negative image was not only affecting the team, but the entire national hockey league.

“Of course I’m willing to resign you,” Seraphina told him.  She hoped he knew that she was being honest with him, that she really did want him on the team.  “You’re a phenomenal player, Brandon.  You know that.  And I don’t care what anyone thinks.  We’re lucky to have you.  But here’s the thing: I’m not going to give you the money you held out for.  That’s not going to happen.  I will pay you what my grandfather agreed to pay for last season, with the option to renegotiate once the season concludes.”  She slid the documents over to him and offered him the pen.  “Do you need to call your lawyer or your agent?”

Brandon shook his head, his eyes firmly located on the text he was reading.  “No,” he said.  “I’ve read plenty of these before.  I keep my lawyer and agent around to help me articulate what I want without sounding too demanding.”

Seraphina bit her bottom lip to keep from retorting anything but she couldn’t help rolling her eyes.  She watched him as he read.  Whenever she was around him, something he did or said always surprised her.  This time, it was the fact that he was actually reading the contract, rather than skimming through it and signing it within a few minutes.  When he flipped the page, she took the length of his fingers – long and slender, fingers that would no doubt play the piano beautifully – and then watched as his eyes went to the left, to the right, and back to the left again.

He was mesmerizing and he probably didn’t even know it.

The thought was accompanied by a nice pink tint to her face, and she quickly looked at the computer screen, flipping her head so her long hair covered the majority of her face.  She couldn’t let Brandon see her blush, and even more than that, couldn’t let him see her watch him.

When he signed it, he pushed the documents back to her.  Both stood – Seraphina had a press conference to get to, which Brandon would accompany her to – and shook hands.

“Thank you,” he said as Seraphina filed the contract away.

She smiled but said nothing, and the two headed out the door.

“Listen, I expect you to get more involved with the team,” Seraphina said as they made their way to the elevators.  “You don’t have to pretend to be happy or anything – God forbid – but you need to start building a better rapport with your team.”  She pressed the down button.  “Also, I want to play Miller more which means I need you to start taking him under your wing.  I have a feeling about him.”

“And they call me demanding?” he asked.

The two walked in the opened elevator and the ride down to the first floor was silent.  Until the doors slid back open. 

Seraphina could already hear the press that had gathered outside, and something like nervousness squeezed her head.  She breathed in deeply and let out a breath, before pushing the door and walking outside.  The fact that Brandon was right behind her gave her a strange comfort.

“Hello,” she said into the microphone, with what she hated to admit was a small voice.  Everybody quieted upon hearing her voice, and journalists raised their mobile tape recorders, pictures began to flash, and cameramen made sure their technology was recording.  “I think it’s about time I did one of these things so…”  She shrugged, which gets a few chuckles.

For the most part, everyone seemed intent on hearing what she had to say.  Not laugh at the lame jokes she attempted to make.

“It’s not shocking to learn my grandfather absolutely loves this game,” she began, forcing herself to look up at her audience despite how intimidating they made her feel.  “Hockey, I mean.  And more than the game, he loved his team.  He loved the Gulls.  Without him, this team wouldn’t be here.  Newport Beach – a place known for sunshine and beaches – wouldn’t have a hockey team.  Who would have thought?”

She paused, scanned the crowd.

“I’m not going to pretend I know what I’m doing.  I’ve read what you’ve all written about me.  I’ve heard what you said about me.  Yes, I’m young and inexperienced, but I’m also willing to learn.  Every day, I find out something out about hockey that I had no clue about, like that back in the day, players didn’t wear helmets – not even the goalies.” 
More laughter.  “But I’m taking everything in.  I plan to be around for a long while so I’m seriously committed to do the best I can for this team, whether the decision I make are publicly approved or not.”

She looked up.  With each passing word, her voice got stronger.  She started believing what she was saying.

“An excellent example of this was my decision to continue to play Gulls net minder, Brandon Thorpe, despite outrage and criticism.  But I have to believe in my players.  I have to have faith in them so they can have faith in themselves.  So, to answer the question I’m sure you’re all dying to know: yes, Brandon Thorpe will play for the Gulls this season.  Once I’m finished, he’ll be happy to talk to you about it himself.”  She smiled at this, knowing that that anywhere wasn’t near the truth.

“The season opener game against our cross-town rivals, the Los Angeles Centaurs, is next week.  Not only that, but fans are encouraged to come pay their respects to Ken Brown that evening.  That game will be dedicated to him and to his memory.  We will have a guestbook where anyone can write memories, tidbits, even advice to Ken about his time as the Gulls’ owner and manager.  I call on the fans’ continued dedication and support as well as the players’ resilience to weather anything that comes our way in order to make this season one for the books.”

With that, she stepped down and smiled.  A real smile.

Seraphina could do this.  She could run a hockey team.

Now, she was actually starting to believe it.

My
mom and brother, who put up with me watching hockey games, yelling at the television, bargaining, threatening, and an assortment of other intense vocalizations

Tierney and Aislinn, my best friends.
  You make hockey even more fun than it already is.  Our inside jokes, our would-you-rathers, our random fan fiction, everything is just too perfect.  You make me quick, witty, and clever.  Hockey wouldn’t be the same without you.

Anaheim Ducks – you’re my team, for now until forever. 
No matter what. 

Frank, who tried to impress me with hockey information the day we
met.  It didn’t quite work out, but you certainly were cute while trying.  I love your passion and enthusiasm for hockey, and I’m so lucky I found a kindred spirit to spend the rest of my life with.  Te amo siempre.