Chapter 15 Ellie
ELLIE
“Private jet time!” Harlowe crows.
As the PR girl, I hadn’t been allowed to go on the private flights. The team didn’t want to pay for a hotel room for me. Now?
“This is that fancy NHL life, girl.” Harlowe pulls out her tablet at my mom’s kitchen table to show me the hotel rooms she booked. “The Soundview Hotel. Five-star service. Comes with its own billionaire.”
There’s a photo of Fitzgerald Svensson—hotelier, real estate mogul, owner of the Seattle Orcas. I stare. “Come to mama.”
“Hmm, he’s blond,” my mom says.
“I don’t care if he has tentacles growing out of his head. He’s rich!”
“He’d be lucky to have you.” Mom kisses me on the top of my head.
“Wait, you’re actually sleeping with your players?” My cousin Violet comes over.
“Like, all at once?” my cousin Bella asks.
“Which one has the biggest dick?”
“I bet it’s the new boy, Fletcher.”
“Yummy!”
“That mouth!”
“Do it,” my uncle demands. “Think of the family. I want him on our hockey team, then we can give Ryder a run for his money next family Christmas skate.”
“I don’t think poor Fletcher wants to go up against Ryder again when he’s not even getting paid.” I sigh.
“He got beat up the last time, poor thing,” Aunt Stacy says.
“Did you kiss his bruises and make them better?” Cousin Belle snickers.
Yes, that’s right. I can’t just pack for my work trip like a normal person—my entire family is involved.
“Don’t you all have to work?” My eye is twitching again.
“We had to take mandatory PTO.” One of my aunts sips her wine.
“Your mom said the entire family has to come to Seattle to support you. Everyone wore Direwolves yellow and black last game, and she felt like it wasn’t sufficient support, even though she works for the Rhode Islanders and didn’t even wear the team colors when she works for the literal team,” Aunt Janet hollers at my mom.
“She doesn’t work for the team,” I say automatically.
“I’m just a volunteer,” my mom trills.
“That’s not how the NHL does it,” my dad mutters as he carries suitcases into the house from the garage in the back. “There aren’t unpaid volunteers. It’s not rec league—it’s professional hockey.”
His sister flips him the bird.
Granny Murray leans in to me. “Don’t listen to him. He barely played for the NHL. He’s jealous.”
“I played for eight years after college.” My dad dumps the suitcases on the floor.
His sister drapes her arm around him. “Don’t listen to him, Ellie. He’s upset you’re around all those big, strong, attractive men—all that naked muscle in the locker room.”
Dad shoves his sister off with a disgusted noise.
My aunt continues. “You get that Swedish fellow. Make a bunch of big blue-eyed babies.”
“He’s Finnish.”
“He’ll make me finish!” My aunt giggles.
My dad turns up the Christmas carols my mom has playing.
“You youngsters don’t know this, but a man who can’t speak English is a big appeal,” Granny Murray says matter-of-factly. “The less they talk, the better.”
“Did everyone place their bets?” Dakota’s brother announces to glares from his siblings. “Just small ones.”
“Yeah, I bet against the Rhode Islanders.” My cousin Bobby snickers.
“If Ellie wins, you can make, like, thirty times your money back.” Another cousin has dollar signs in his eyes.
“Please don’t bet money on me,” I groan.
“You need to trust in yourself and your team.”
“Is Cookie gonna play?” Uncle Teddy asks excitedly, hovering over me. “If he plays, I could win, like, five grand on this bet.”
“I, uh… he’s having some… well, hockey is eighty percent mental, after all.”
“Dammit, you need to make him play,” my uncles demand.
“Here are the therapy toys back,” another second cousin announces, coming into the house with three of her children traipsing behind her. “Marco ate one of the slime balls. I told him I have four boys, so he’s a spare, and if he doesn’t make it through the night, them’s the breaks.”
“Thanks.” I look down at the dirty toys.
“I’ll sanitize these,” Gracie offers, taking the box.
“Therapy toys? You need to threaten that boy.” My dad’s third cousin waves a bottle of beer around. “You’re going to lose if Cookie doesn’t play.”
I sigh. “I know. I am trying. What am I supposed to do? They’re a mess. Violet, stop filming!”
“What? I can sell this shit to Sportsnet.”
I look helplessly to my dad, the only person in the family since my two brothers who’s played regularly in the NHL semirecently.
“Any tips?” Nate’s brother finally prods.
“I don’t know. Quit.” Dad shrugs.
“Boo!” His sisters throw things at him.
“I can’t. I need the money. I’m trying to save up for a house.”
“You want to move out?” My mom sobs. “My baby!”
“Move where?” my sister demands.
“Toronto, I don’t know.”
“Ooh, is one of your players getting drafted?”
“You said you weren’t going to sleep with them,” Nate cries.
His sisters jump him. “Her sex life isn’t your business. Gross, Nate.”
“You need to get in touch with your inner superwoman. You got this. I believe in you, and I’ve put my money where my mouth is. I have fifty thousand on you,” Granny Murray declares. “Put up the good silver as collateral.”
“She’s never leaving,” Nate murmurs to his brother.
“She will outlive us all and inherit your house.” His brother ruffles his hair.
“Oh, Trina.” My dad covers his mouth with his hand as my mom parades into the dining room with an eye-wateringly bright neon-pink suit.
“Look what I made you for your big game! I didn’t have it done in time for your first game, but now you can go to Seattle in style.” My mom beams.
“Mom, that is… wow. Are those rhinestones?”
My mom smiles proudly.
“This is some fancy tailoring.”
“It is fancy tailoring. You’re going to be the most visible thing in the Orcas’ stadium tomorrow night.” My cousin snickers.
“Try it on.” My mom holds it up.
Please don’t fit, I pray as I go to the bathroom to put on the suit.
Of course, it fits. My mom sewed all my siblings’ and my Halloween costumes and was the volunteer for all school plays. She learned from Granny Murray, who can sew a men’s three-piece suit drunk and upside down.
“You look so cute,” my mom exclaims when I walk out. “Like Elle Woods and Barbie!” She claps her hands, so happy.
“Trina,” my dad hisses, “I don’t think Ellie can wear a pink suit to coach a men’s NHL hockey team. She’s going against the Seattle Orcas. Emil Maynard is the captain of that team. He’s the best player in the history of hockey.”
“Uh, Zack Murphy,” one of my uncles says, clearly offended.
“Did we watch the same game yesterday?” Nate argues.
“Hey, you can’t skate that well drunk,” his brother retorts.
My dad turns back to me. “They are a dynasty team. They have five cups and won one last year and the year before that. The Orcas are undefeated this year. They’ll laugh her off the West Coast if she wears that.”
My mom looks a little hurt. “Oh, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, snickerdoodle. I want you to feel your best. We just want you to know that we are so proud of you, and we believe in you.” She sounds sad.
I take a deep breath. “I’d love to wear it, Mom. It’s amazing! You’re so talented and crafty.”
“Oh, you are going to look amazing!” Trina squeals.
My dad crosses his arms.
“Look!” My mom walks me through the details. “It has rhinestone hockey sticks on it. And a matching headband.” She slips it on my head. “You look so cute! You’re going to win. I just know it.”
The rookies are yawning when I herd everyone into the waiting plane early the next morning. The runway’s been cleared of snow. The drifts line the runway, big and ominous in the dark.
“Yeah, this is the life.” Ren settles down in a seat, stretching out his long legs.
“You have to wear a suit,” I remind him. “We’re going to get fined.”
He opens one eye. “You’re worried about a suit when we’re losing, darling? Really?”
I give a helpless shrug.
Fletcher shoots me another ugly look as he passes me on his way to the back of the plane.
“You don’t want to sit with the team?”
“If the plane goes down, this is the safest place to be.”
“Hell, I don’t care. Take us down.” Ren takes out a flask from his pocket and offers it to Zack Murphy, who slumps next to him.
He hasn’t shaved in days. His eyes are bloodshot.
I grab the flask from Ren, who yells, “Hey, now!” and in exchange, I unpack a thermos full of Granny Murray’s hangover tonic.
“Drink all of that,” I tell Zayne.
“You servin’ bacon on this flight with these virgin Bloody Marys?” Ren’s mouth screws up.
“Bacon,” Jovi mumbles from his seat.
I pull his blanket up around his neck as Braxton’s mom storms to me and huffs, “Braxton can’t have bacon. It makes his tummy runny.”
“I’ll make sure to update that dietary restriction in his file.”
“No need. I brought all of his food.” She pushes through me, her enormous bag banging Jovi in the head.
“Braxton needs a window seat,” she tells the Finn, who just looks at her.
“He can’t speak English…”
“A window. Seat.” She raises her voice, slowing the words down as if that’s going to help. “You need to move.” Mrs. Beavers mimes with her hands.
The Finn seems to get it and grabs his book and heads to the back of the plane to sit with Fletcher. Mrs. Beavers shoves her son in the window seat then settles down next to him.
“Um… parents don’t really travel with the team…”
Braxton’s mother is irate. “You will not separate me from my son. He is a child. He has never slept apart from me. I have to supervise him. There is a felon on this team.”
Ren blows her a kiss. “We also have a war criminal, so…”
Fletcher’s lip curls back. I sit down in my seat.
My mom sits next to me and opens a container. “Oatmeal?”
“Trina, the charter company serves food on the flight,” Harlowe calls.
“Oh! I brought a breakfast casserole, though.” She unzips another bag. Suddenly, all the guys are wide-awake, sniffing the air.
It does smell good. My mom makes a mean breakfast casserole.
“Butts in seats,” I order the guys, “or you’re not getting any.”
“And I made cinnamon rolls.”
“Not before a—you know what? Fuck it.” I open up Ren’s flask. He toasts me. “What’s a few cinnamon rolls and a couple shots of liquor among losers, eh?”