Power Play (San Antonio Surge #5)

Chapter 1

Nicole

Mission Valley Medical Center wasn’t the biggest hospital in San Antonio, but it had heart. Smack dab in the middle of downtown’s pulse, the hospital caught the overflow from everywhere that mattered.

Two years on general rotation, and I’d become a trusted face in the halls. Everyone loved me.

“I can’t stand you, Nicole Gordon. Take your cheap bribes and get out of my face.” Behind the nurses’ station, Otto hadn’t even glanced at the pumpkin spice latte I’d slid across the counter.

“You love me.”

“You’re a pain in the ass from October to June.” He scooped up his chart allocation and started his escape. “I honestly don’t know why Parker puts up with it.”

“Because she loves me too. And besides, I’m not asking for a kidney,” I said, falling into step beside him. I’d brought the latte along. “Just that you cover the end of my shift.”

He snorted a short, unamused laugh.

“At this point, I’d gladly give you a kidney. That’s a one-time thing. This,” he gestured between us, “is a weekly problem.”

“You have a double coming up, right? Saturday?”

This made him stop walking, eyes narrow as he studied me. Victory stuck out its nose and tested the air, but I knew better than to descend into any kind of preliminary celebration. I had to hear him say the words first.

“I don’t have a life,” I said, agitated by the loaded pause. “Pulling a weekend double gives me something to do.”

“Except… Your team has a game on Saturday, don’t they?”

Shit.

I stood down.

“Which means you’ll just hawk that shift off on the next unsuspecting victim.” Otto slipped the latte from my hands and took a sip. “Maybe getting a life would save you from this slippery slope. Thanks for the coffee.”

He booked it down the hall, making a beeline for the nurses’ lounge where he’d finish his admin and clock out of here in under two hours. Probably just to go home and watch reruns of Frasier while eating macaroni and cheese that came out of a box.

The injustice of it.

“Lena, oh, my God, Lena. Just the person I wanted to see.”

“The answer’s no, Nicole.” She breezed right past, leaving me in the swirling miasma of her cherryblossom body mist and abject rejection.

And she wondered why nobody liked her.

I cut down the hall, rubber soles whispering over the tiles as I hooked a left past the on-call rooms. Hope returned in the form of Marcie, rubbing her eyes as she came out of the last one.

If she were just waking up, that meant she was heading into another shift. And since she’d already be here…

“Hey, Marcie.”

She stifled a yawn, but was already shaking her head no. “You know I love you, child, and I would do anything for you.”

“Exactly.” I latched onto the positives. It was nearing four o’clock. Time, as it were, was of the essence. “Think about the love you have for me. Think about how that love makes it easy to—”

“Have you seen what Parker assigned me tonight?” She gave me a deadpan look that made my selfish motivations falter. “I swear, ever since that ruptured appendix, she’s been on a rampage. Like they removed that, and the last shred of humanity in her.”

“Marce, you’re my last hope.”

She patted my shoulder. “I’m sure your team will play just fine without you in the stands.”

“That’s not the point,” I said, defeat slowly creeping in.

Which was absurd, of course. My boys never gave in to defeat, so there was no reason for me to give up. There was still time.

I pushed into the nurses’ lounge and sank onto the bench in front of our lockers. Rosemary was halfway through getting changed out of her scrubs.

“I take it you didn’t win?”

The pout barely gave way when I replied, “Does it look like I won?”

“It’s just a—”

“Don’t.” I snapped upright, fixing her with a warning look. “It’s not just a game to me, and you know it. We’ve had the worst start to the season of any defending championship team in the history of ever. Every game is like a final, and the closer we get to April, the more it counts.”

She bit back a laugh and pulled on her cardigan. “I love how it’s always ‘we’ and ‘us’. You’re hilarious.”

“I bet you’re relieved you’re not being dragged to watch the game with me.” I kicked against the bottom of the locker, a low, constant, bang drumming through the lounge. Otto looked up from his charts to shoot daggers at me, but he didn’t deserve my mercy.

“These things are going to happen,” she said then, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “And you know how it gets over the festive season.”

Then a wild idea struck me, and I jumped up to block Rosemary’s path out of the lounge. “You’re my best friend.”

“Nic—”

“You’re my best friend, and you love me, and you don’t have any plans tonight.”

“I’ll have you know there’s an almost-expired box of Winnie Wong’s chop suey waiting for me at home,” she said.

“Please?” I dropped to my knees, hands folded, all dignity out the window. Otto huffed a laugh and went back to his admin. “I’ll do anything. I’ll— I’ll take Thanksgiving.”

Rosemary folded her arms over her chest. “We both have the day off on Thanksgiving.”

“Then I’ll take Christmas Eve,” I countered instantly. “I know you hate that one. Remember last year? Think about it. Your couch and a steaming mug of hot chocolate, instead of bed pans overflowing with—”

“I’ll cover for you, Nicole.”

We both turned to see Alice standing there, dark hair pulled back, fresh face, new-badge energy. She’d started a couple of months ago and still wanted so badly to impress everyone. I vaguely remembered what that felt like, but I was in no state to have any kind of sympathy for her cause.

I leapt to my feet and crushed her in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re saving my life. You have no idea. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

She blushed and hurried out of the nurses’ lounge, muttering something about it being no problem. Otto stared at me and shook his head slowly.

“You’re shameless.”

“Nobody asked you,” I said, already tearing off my scrubs.

*

Rosemary hovered by my door, eyes flicking to her phone. “Explain again why we had to stop here when warmups are about to start.”

I crossed the living room and grabbed the Surge jersey off the back of the chair, the fabric familiar against my hands. “Can’t catch a game without my lucky shirt.”

She watched me tug it on, mouth twisting. “Are you allowed to launder the shirt occasionally?”

I stared at her, genuinely concerned for her cognitive health. “And wash all the luck out of it? Are you insane?”

“Sure. I’m the one who’s insane,” she said, lifting her hands in surrender.

A dull thud carried through the wall, followed by the scrape of something heavy on the tile. Rosemary’s attention snapped to the shared hallway. “What was that?”

“Movers,” I said, toeing my sneakers on. “I’m getting a new neighbor.”

She followed me to the door, where I paused before opening it and pressed my fingers to the frame on the wall. Tyler Benson’s collector’s card sat behind glass, and I rubbed the corner twice, a habit older than this apartment and just as stubborn.

“You’re certifiable.”

“Certified loyal,” I corrected, locking up.

The hallway bustled with men carrying boxes in and out of the apartment next door, cardboard scraping walls, tape peeling under their hands. Rosemary eyed the open door as we stepped around them.

“Hopefully this one doesn’t boil a fish head every Friday, like some exotic delicacy.”

I hesitated, keys still in my hand, the image landing with unexpected fondness. “Ah, Fish-head Bobby. I miss that guy.”

Her laugh chased us down the stairs as we picked up speed, the building fading behind us, the night ahead already angled toward the rink.

*

The Surge came out, and I jumped to my feet, leaning over the side as they filed to the bench. I shoved my cap at Landon Cross, greatest rookie since Mason took the ice. But it was me up against a bunch of pre-pubescent kids clamoring for his attention.

He didn’t lift his head, just went through the pictures, jerseys, and caps with his marker, scribbling his autograph as he went. My stomach twisted into something ridiculous when he handed back my cap.

“Happy now?” Rosemary asked as I sat back down.

My fingers had almost burned through the fabric of my cap as I shook it in her face. “I have a piece of him. My rookie. My glorious, infuriating rookie.”

The first period started, and the Surge immediately hit a wall. Jets weren’t rolling over. Not even a little. I yelled at the ref when a clean hit went uncalled, and Rosemary winced.

“Did you see that?” I whirled round, and she shrugged. “That was daylight robbery.”

I turned back to the ice in time to see Landon pick up the puck. He pivoted on a dime, then skated right into a defender. Shot missed. The puck bounced harmlessly into the corner.

“Uh… good shot?” Rosemary asked.

“Yes. He was perfect. He just… got slighted by physics.” I whipped my scarf against my shoulder. “But just wait. He’ll pull it back. Always does.”

Three minutes later, Landon broke free again with both Grayson and Mason flanking.

I practically lunged over my row. “Go! Shoot! Do the thing!” Another whiff.

I slumped back, teeth clenched, and crumpled the foam finger in my hands.

“He’s trying. He’s literally carving the ice like it’s butter.

He’s magnificent, Rose. He will save us. Just wait.”

Rosemary patted my arm like she was afraid I’d combust. “I’m sure he will.”

We fell into our usual rhythm. I narrated every line change, every failed chance, every questionable call, and my best friend in the whole world pretended she gave a damn.

“Defense! Oh, for crying out loud, that was a clean puck! Call that, ref!”

“Yeah, call it!” She was on her feet too, cheeks rosy from the cold.

By the second period, the Surge looked off. They were playing from behind, not ahead, and I felt the weight in my own chest. We just couldn’t shake this… whatever it was.

“Oh no,” I muttered, head in my hands. Tucker had slipped, and the Jets attacker caught Hunter off guard. Another goal against The Surge.

“They’ll come back,” Rosemary said. “There’s time.”

I nodded, frantic desperation clawing in my chest. “We have to. We can’t take two losses in a row. Landon, my beautiful rookie, will salvage this. I know he will.”

Then the Jets scored again. My voice hit a pitch only slightly below panic. “No! Absolutely not! I do not accept that. He—he was literally five inches from the net! FIVE!”

Third period went by in a blur. All I got was Rosemary’s gentle comfort beside me, and a seemingly endless series of one mistake on the ice after the other. My team was unrecognizable from the force that’d bulldozed their name onto the Stanley Cup.

By the end, we were praying for the final horn to put us out of our misery.

And on home ice, too.

A Jets fan a few seats down leaned over, voice pitched just loud enough to land. “Shouldn’t be rooting for the rookie, sweetheart. He’s cute, but useless.”

Something in me snapped clean in half.

I vaulted over the seat in front of me, knee knocking plastic, fingers gripping the back of the next row as I hauled myself forward.

“Say that again.” My fingers curled around the collar of his ugly-ass Jets jersey. “Say it again; I dare you.”

The guy slid back in his seat, arms flailing.

Yeah, just what I thought.

“Nicole!” Rosemary’s arms locked around my waist, and she hoisted me back with surprising strength. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”

“Shit-for-brains doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I shouted over my shoulder, still clawing for purchase. “Let me go. I’m taking his teeth.”

Rosemary dug in her heels, hauling me back over the seats I’d just conquered. “Let’s leave that for the next game. You owe me a beer.”

Security glanced our way, and I smoothed my jersey, shooting the Jets fan a look that promised unfinished business.

“Enjoy the win,” I told him. “It won’t last.”

Rosemary didn’t loosen her grip until we were halfway up the aisle.

Thankfully, she had the foresight to gauge I wouldn’t be great company over any number of beers. We parted ways with a polite promise from her to help me debrief in the morning.

“Sleep it off, and we’ll talk about the game when you no longer want to draw blood from unsuspecting strangers.”

That fucking ref and his dumbass calls were milling around my head when I got to my door, sticking in the keys with force.

Bad calls, missed passes, Landon falling short on that last shot.

It was going to take a lot more than a lucky jersey and rubbing up legendary T-Bone’s card for The Surge to find their way out of this.

Movement at the apartment next door caught my eye, and I looked over.

No. No way.

My brain stalled, and every kernel of popcorn I’d ingested fought for a way out of my body. The only path, my throat.

I swallowed it back down. And blinked. There was a lot of blinking. Nothing much else. Because— Landon Cross. Breakout rookie star, Landon fucking Cross, was my new neighbor?

He must’ve felt my gaze burning into the side of his face as he unlocked his door, because he looked over, his eyes moving from the Surge cap on my head, to my jersey, then my face.

There were words in my head. Several, in fact.

They just couldn’t find a way into and out of my mouth. I just stood there. Jaw on the floor.

“Nice hat,” he said, and went inside.