Troublemaker - Lisa B. Kamps Page 0,13

big deal."

"Perfect! Have you ever been to a hockey game before?"

"No."

"Oh, you're going to love it. I'll tell you all about it while we're eating." She looped her arm through mine once more and led me out onto the sidewalk. Jacqui was right behind us, only pausing long enough to the lock the door and pull down a metal grate, which she also locked.

Then the three of us were heading down the street, both women flanking me like they were afraid I would take off as soon as they turned their heads. I had no interest in taking off, mainly because I didn't have anywhere to go except back to Dylan's place. And since he was probably home by now, that wasn't an option.

Twenty-four hours. I could last twenty-four hours. And, with any luck at all, I wouldn't have to see Dylan for most of it.

For reasons I couldn't admit to myself, I hoped whatever luck I had would run out—which was a stupid thought to have. Maybe it didn't make sense but I had a feeling that seeing Dylan would make leaving harder.

And that was a complication I didn't want or need in my life. Not now.

Not ever.

Chapter Seven

Dylan

I was right where I needed to be. Where I wanted to be. I belonged on the ice, had ever since I could remember.

I'm not sure when exactly I was bitten by the bug but my first clear memory of hockey had been when I was maybe three or four. It was winter and my parents had bundled all of us up—me, my baby sister, and my bigger brother—packed us into the car, and took us to the frozen lake for a "picnic". I'm pretty sure it was more to get us out of the house in the hopes that fresh air might exhaust all three of us so they could enjoy a quiet break but at that age, I probably didn't care why we were going. A picnic meant fun, no matter what time of year.

I don't remember much of that day—that outing had since blended with hundreds of others we'd had while I was growing up. One thing I do remember, vividly, is wandering down to the edge of the frozen lake and watching some older kids play pond hockey. No idea how long I had been there—long enough to freak out my parents since I had wandered off by myself—but I didn't want to leave. No cajoling could get me to budge, not even when Mom had bribed me with a special treat of apple pie before we even had lunch.

Dad must have realized what I was watching, though, because he hauled down another blanket and stayed with me to watch the boys play. They were just a bunch of kids, maybe ten or twelve, playing pond hockey, but I was enthralled.

I got my first pair of skates a week later. By the time I turned five, I was already playing hockey. By the time I was eight, I knew what I wanted to do and nothing was going to stop me.

It had been a long road with lots of bumps but I was finally drafted a few weeks after I turned eighteen. Visions of instant stardom filled my head. I would have it all: fame, success, fortune. I'd be a legend, sought after and fought over by every team.

Reality was a bit different.

My first team had called me up and I managed to play six games with them—only to have my ego bruised when they sent me back down. There had been a few trades since then, fear of not having my contract renewed and relief when it was—even though the terms had changed. Until, finally, I ended up here.

In New Orleans.

Playing for the Bourdons.

I didn't want to say we were the laughing stock of the league but...we were. We'd managed to win a few games but we had more ticks in the loss column than we did in the win column. If it was just our record, I didn't think it would be that bad. I mean, it was the team's first year on the ice, nobody had expectations, great or otherwise, for us. Yeah, sometimes flukes happened—look at Vegas during their first year—but those were the exceptions, not the rule.

It wasn't our record that made us the laughingstock of the league, it was everything else.

Our team name, which was supposed to translate to some kind of bee.

Our team mascot, a freaking bee who looked like