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Chapter 5

There was nothing like those first few moments of stepping on the ice.

The crisp, dry air coating her lungs, the slight tingle as the cold hit her cheeks. The smell—part sweat, part residual gas fumes from the Zamboni, part the cool, clean scent that had been present in every, single rink Brit had ever been in.

She bobbed her head toward her chest, sliding her helmet from where it rested at her hairline down over her face without using her hands. It wasn’t repainted yet and still had flames of red and gold interspersed with the Kansas City Panthers’ logo—the AHL, or minor league, team she’d been playing with only four days before.

Her contract had been freshly modified to allow her to play with the Gold, but it did possess a clause that enabled management to bump her back down to the Panthers if she didn’t perform well enough. The clause sucked, but her position as a rookie meant they hadn’t been able to negotiate much better than a standard, entry-level NHL agreement.

Though, if she performed well enough during training camp and the preseason games, her agent had managed a section that would enable her to secure a one-way contract—meaning she couldn’t be demoted back to the AHL without being paid at the NHL rate.

The boost in pay was both a perk to her and a deterrent for management to get rid of her. It wouldn’t guarantee Brit’s position with the Gold, but it was the best she or any other new player could hope to get.

For now, Brit’s goal was to prove herself good enough to stay in the big leagues.

She hoped—

No, dammit. She would do it.

Shrugging her shoulders, she tugged at her jersey. It was black, her pads white . . . and none of that mattered because . . .

She was delaying.

Enough already. One tap of her stick against her leg pads, one against the right side of the open door—she was nothing if not superstitious, just like every other goalie she’d ever known—then out onto the ice.

Normal people had bad dreams of being late or giving a speech naked.

Brit wasn’t normal, not by a long shot.

Her worst nightmare was eating shit on that first step. But today, just like 99.99 percent of other days, she was fine.

Still, skating into a new rink, for a new team, in a new city meant Brit was stripped bare and vulnerable.

Which really, really sucked.

She despised vulnerable. Hated weakness—

A puck glanced off the glass less than six inches from her head.

It may have been an accident, but she doubted it. These guys had too much control to miss the net by a good ten feet.

No doubt, the shot had originated from the irritated section of the locker room.

Awesome. She stifled a curse and continued warming up.

Brit had spent way too much time having pucks shot at her to flinch. In fact, she was much too desensitized to the high-pitched clang to react in any noticeable sort of way. But inside she noted the action for what it was.

A warning.

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