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“I take it you know why I wanted to talk to you,” she began, relieved to hear her voice come out steady.  She even managed to lock eyes with him to show just how serious she was.

“Yeah, I think I have an idea,” Brandon Thorpe said.  It was the first time Seraphina heard him speak – soft spoken baritone – and it’s not at all unpleasant.  She recognized a gentle Canadian lilt to his tone, and it didn’t carry the arrogance, self-deserving undertones she expected it to.

He shifted in his seat before saying, “Look, I didn’t kill your grandfather.”

To say Seraphina was surprised by his unsuspecting outburst would be accurate.  She looked at him coolly, trying to read his expression, to figure out if what he said was, in fact, the truth.  But those eyes wouldn’t give anything away.  And yet, a very tiny portion of her began to believe him.  Maybe it was due to her obvious attraction to him.  Maybe it was because she always wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt and he was no exception.  But she couldn’t just make a decision on him based on that small voice inside of her that also happened to be completely separate from logic.

“I didn’t say you did,” she said after taking a moment to quiet her thoughts once more.

“Well, you must know that the cops think I’m a suspect,” he went on.  He seemed to be uncomfortable with her blatant stare and he glanced down at his hands resting on his thighs though his jaw remained firm.  “I was interviewed.  Just a couple of questions.  But they obviously think I did it.”

“I didn’t think they released any news about suspects yet,” Seraphina said after careful deliberation.  “They certainly haven’t told me or my sister that you’re a suspect.”

“Yeah, but they asked you about me, didn’t they?”  When Seraphina didn’t respond, he pressed his lips together in a triumphant smile that wasn’t reflected in his eyes.  “See?  Maybe it’s not official or anything but it’s obvious I’m a suspect.”

“You were the one who decided to hold out last minute instead of signing,” Seraphina pointed out, trying to keep her voice controlled.  But certainly he could see why the police might suspect him.  “You were the one who asked for more money.  The timing is pretty bad, Mr. Thorpe.  It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch for him to have refused you, for you to have gotten upset and kill him.  You can’t deny that.”

“I can and I will,” he said through gritted teeth.  His brow furrowed as he met Seraphina’s eyes again.  This time there seemed to be fire behind the green irises.  “Look, I’m not saying that I don’t see
how
they could suspect me for this.  But that’s the only reason they suspect me; bad timing.  Every player in their career has held out for a bigger contract.  I just happened to have done it at a bad time.”

Seraphina felt her shoulder sag and her body to sink into the smooth leather of the chair.  She even felt her feet touch the floor in order to slowly push her right and left, right and left, though it was nowhere near
professional.  “What makes you think you deserve a raise?” she finally asked, raising an eyebrow.  A silent challenge.

“I know you and your
family are going through a lot so I can understand that you don’t know the stats of your players just yet, but you should probably know that I’m the best goaltender in the league.”  His voice still wasn’t arrogant; he truly seemed to believe what he said was a fact, not mere flattery.

“Maybe so,” Seraphina replied and pushed herself up so she leaned on her forearms, now resting on the desk, her fingers interlocked.  “Maybe statistically speaking, you are the best goaltender in the league.  How long have you been playing for the Gulls?”

“Three years.”

“Right.”
  She nodded to herself before meeting his eyes.  “And in those three years, you have yet to take the Gulls to the playoffs.  Do you want to know what your problem is?  You blame your teammates for the goals that slip by you instead of taking responsibility for your mistakes.  Sure, the puck has to get through every player on the ice before it faces you.  But if it gets past you, it gets past you and that’s that.  And now, you’re sitting in front of me, saying how you deserve to get a raise because you claim to be the best goalie in the league?  I don’t see any of my forwards coming up to my office and asking me for a raise, and I hear that our first line has the potential to be the best in the league.  You’re an essential part of the team, don’t get me wrong, but so are forwards.  We have nothing if we can’t score goals just like we have nothing if we can’t save them.  You may be good, the best, but to me, that just means you play your best with this team.  And now you’re asking me for a raise or you won’t sign?  You should be thanking my grandfather for putting you in an environment where you reached your full potential.”

Brandon’s brow pushed up as his mouth dropped in surprise.  He was silent as Seraphina reached into the desk to pull out her grandfather’s copy of the finances.  Simon Spade, the financial advisor, had his own copy at his office.  Seraphina had glanced through it during her nostalgia earlier that day and found something interesting she wanted to know from Brandon Thorpe.

“Did you know my grandfather was considering trading you?” she asked, picking her eyes up to look at him.

He was still surprised by her lecture, but this question seemed to upset him.  His eyes got fiery again and his mouth turned down.  “Yeah, I heard rumors but Ken never came to me directly about them,” he said.  And then, under his breath, “He never would have traded me.”       

“Why?” Seraphina asked, and though he seemed to believe what he said, his facial expression so entirely serious, she couldn’t help but be amused by his first show of self-centeredness.  It made him not so attractive, she realized with a touch of sadness, and she hoped that he would get over himself.  “Because you’re the best goalie in the league?  You do realize that it would cost me less to trade you then to keep you with your current asking price, don’t you?  Sure, a few teams might pay you what you want, but it wouldn’t be same for you.”

“What wouldn’t be the same?” he asked, arrogance gone for the moment.

“The game.”  She sat up even straighter.  “Face it; there’s just something in the water when you’re here, in Newport Beach.  The environment is mellow and relaxed except during the games when people’s passion takes over and they feel personally involved in every pass, every turnover, every goal.  I don’t have to preach to you about the weather, how people work their entire lives to be able to buy a house here, how people would kill to stay here.”  Her eyes flashed to his face at her purposefully chosen phrase, but either it went over his head or he was extremely controlled because he didn’t even react.  “The people are nice and sweet, offering a smile or a hello.  And the fans.  The fans love you, Mr. Thorpe.  Even I know that, and I barely know anything about hockey.  These fans are loyal and attend every game, despite the fact that we’ve never made playoffs because they believe.  They believe we have the potential.  And it doesn’t matter how many times we let them down because they’ll keep coming back because for whatever reason, they still have faith even though we may not have faith.  These are our fans.  Nobody stops being a Gulls fan, which means the fan base will only increase which means more people packing Sea Side.  Do you really want to give that all up for money?”

Seraphina locked eyes with him once more.  She waited for him to claim that the people that occupied Newport Beach were stuck up and superficial, that he’d rather prefer the changing seasons to the static weather,
that every fan base was generally the same save for the team they cheered for.  But he didn’t.  He didn’t say anything.

“And let’s be frank,” she added, almost as an afterthought.  “No one’s going to take you with your current asking price given that you’re kind of a suspect in my grandfather’s murder.”

He shifted in his seat, but he wasn’t uncomfortable by the directness of her words.  “Can I just say something?” he asked.  “I don’t understand why you’re keeping me on the team when I am an unofficial suspect in your grandfather’s murder.”

Yeah, she didn’t either.  But before she could stop herself, she said, “Because for whatever reason, I don’t think you did it.”

Seraphina was actually surprised the telling words came out of her mouth.  She wasn’t sure she was even allowed to tell Brandon that she believed his innocence, but she knew it probably the smartest idea, especially if he did do it.  But at the moment, Seraphina realized that if she wanted Brandon to be loyal to the team, she would have to show her faith in him.  Even if all logic and evidence pointed to the contrary, she would take the position of innocent until proven guilty.

Brandon looked taken aback by her words, and again, she waited for him to say something, anything; maybe a thank you or even a laugh of disbelief at her naivety.  But again, he said nothing.   

Which gave Seraphina a small flicker of hope.

She swallowed before she began to speak.  As the younger sister, she wasn’t used to giving out orders.  She asked for permission, made a request, even made suggestions, but rarely did ever tell someone what they were going to do. 
Except that changed right now.  She made it a point to lock eyes with him, and after taking a deep breath, she spoke.

“Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to play for the Gulls for the season with your current contract.  You won’t officially sign until the investigation has been closed, but you will be paid for each game you play, but I expect you to act and play as though you are still part of the team. 
Which means I expect you to interact more with your teammates.  I don’t know if you’re brooding on purpose or just don’t like to socialize, but I don’t see any chemistry between you and the team, which may explain why we have yet to make it to playoffs.  Go out with them after a game or practice.  Talk to them.  Get to know them.  You’ve been playing with them for three years, and I guarantee you don’t know Matt’s middle name.  Finally, once the season’s over, you and I will meet up and discuss how much you’ve improved, because even the best can get better, and we’ll reintroduce salary negotiations.”

She raised a brow, indicating that he really did have to speak this time, to tell her one way or the other if he was in agreement.

“You’re more like your grandfather than I originally thought,” he said.  Maybe Seraphina’s ears were deceiving her, but it almost sounded as though he admired her for her similarity to Papa.  “Fine.  I agree.”

He said nothing more when he got up and left, but he didn’t have to.

8
.
 
Even though the season technically didn’t start until October, Emma and her father pulled into the somewhat crowded Sea Side Ice Palace parking lot.  Hushed chanting caught the young woman by surprise and from her spot in the passenger seat, she craned her neck in order to try and pinpoint where the noise was coming from.  She couldn’t remember people gathering before a hockey game in order to chant, especially not during the preseason.

By time her father paid the attendant and found a place to park his beloved silver Mercedes relatively close to the large, circular building, Emma could hear the voices much better, and it wasn’t long before she could actually see the group of people making the noise.  There were probably only twenty people, but the group was relatively diverse in both age and ethnicity.  There seemed to be more females than males, which surprised Emma only because there didn’t seem to be a huge Seagulls fan base composed on solely women.  Every other person held a sign that had some kind of clever slogan relating to their cause.  But even reading a couple of signs or listening to their chants didn’t actually give anyone who happened to walk by them a clear idea of what they were protesting.  One thing Emma did recognize was that whatever these people were protesting about, they were upset about it.

“What are they protesting about?” Emma whispered, despite being safely inside the rink where the chanters couldn’t overhear.

“I’m not sure,” her father replied.  He led her skillfully to their section, having walked this exact route many, many times before.  “But if I had to guess, it probably has to do with Brandon Thorpe.”

They walked into a small archway where an usher stood in a dark green vest, waiting to check tickets and show guests to their seats.  The usher smiled at Jeremy, recognizing him because of his frequent presence at Sea Side.  She didn’t even check his tickets.

Once in their seats, Emma turned to her father.  “Why would people protest Brandon Thorpe?” she asked.  “Isn’t he supposed to be, like, the best goalie in the league or something?”

Jeremy’s brown eyes sparkled with pride.  “I didn’t actually expect you to know that,” he teased, but his admiration was detectable in his voice.  Before his daughter could come up with some sort of retort, he continued.  “From what I hear, Brandon Thorpe is an unofficial suspect in Ken’ Brown’s death.  And before you ask me why, Thorpe hasn’t exactly been shy about asking for more money before extending his contract with the Gulls.  And I don’t think Ken was going to give him that money.”

“Why not?”
Emma asked.  “He’s the best at what he does, isn’t he?”

“Yeah he is,” her father agreed, nodding his head.  “But Ken didn’t care only about a player’s performance.  He cared about a player’s attitude too. 
Maybe even more than performance.  I can’t tell you from personal experience about Thorpe’s attitude, but he’s played for the Gulls for three years and besides going to every home game, we’ve been to every Gulls charity event, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had a conversation with him besides a brief introduction.”

“So the people outside are protesting the fact that he’s playing tonight given that he
could
be a suspect in this case, even though the police haven’t actually said that Ken was murdered?”  Emma’s voice was doubtful.  “Isn’t that like saying he’s guilty without even looking at the evidence, giving him a trial, that sort of thing?”

“That’s exactly what
it’s like,” Jeremy said.  “But you’d be surprised, honey, how quickly people come to conclusions about others without letting them share their side.  Especially people suspected of committing a crime.”

If anyone knew that point, it was her father.  As a lawyer defending major corporations, Emma was certain her father was ostracized by people who knew about what he did for a living and probably even by some of his peers.  When Emma asked why he decided to go into white-collar law rather than something like criminal law, he told her that he was well-aware that big businesses weren’t popular, and there was a good reason for this, but it didn’t mean that every single last one was bad, and if it meant that he’d have to defend a bunch of bad ones in order to reach that good one, then he would do it.  Emma knew her father wasn’t the most popular person because of his job, but he seemed to enjoy it.  And she wouldn’t lie; he got paid well which allowed her to live the lifestyle she was used to and liked.

Before they were able to resume their conversations, the lights in the stadium dimmed and an enthusiastic voice over the loudspeaker announced the Sea Gulls.  Because it was a home game, the team was decked out in their navy blue jerseys with white lettering and subtle, dark red outlines.  They skated with ease and grace, making it look so much easier than it really was.  Instead of burying her nose inside the book she brought with her like she normally would have, she decided to watch for a moment.  Just for a bit. 

Completely beyond her capacity of control, Emma’s eyes managed to catch onto Kyle’s skating form.  She thought she heard the announcer say Kyle would be starting.  His hair was pushed underneath the black helmet clipped underneath his chin though strawberry blond strands stuck out here and there.  The pads underneath his clothing made his shoulders and torso look bigger than he really
was, which greatly contrasted with the size of Kyle’s head and caused Emma to smile in amusement.

The three forwards lined up in the center of the ice, against the opposing team, the Phoenix Panthers.  And just like that, the referees, in helmets and ice skates as well, started the game and skated out of the way.

Emma was close to the glass, only four rows from it.  There weren’t many people around her, and she figured that that had to do with the fact that the season had yet to start.  She actually preferred it this way; she could see so clearly in front of her and she didn’t have to worry about people standing up and being obnoxious.  After a couple of minutes, one of the referees blew his whistle, causing the game to stop.

“What happened?” Emma asked her father while keeping her eyes in front of her. 

“Icing,” her father replied, too entranced in the game to look at his daughter.  “It means that one of our guys was in the neutral zone and shot it past the two red lines, the last one being where the goaltender is located, and nobody touched it.  But if Peter had cleared it while being in our side of the ice, icing wouldn’t be called.”

Emma didn’t fully understand why clearing it was such a big deal, but she decided not to ask.  As much as her father knew about hockey, she didn’t think he’d know the answer to this question either.

When Kyle was off the ice, Emma focused her attention on Brandon Thorpe.  He had stretched before the game, his fingers – encased in thick, white gloves – touching the ice as he bent one knee and extended the other and then switched.  He took his stick, thicker and shorter than a regular hockey stick, and traced it on the ice in the form of a crescent moon before kneeling forward.  Even she could feel the focused tension brimming from the player and he was a good deal away.  His mask fit his head completely, almost as though it molded to his head, and though Emma couldn’t make out the designs completely, she thought she saw darker forms of seagulls decorating the white plaster.  It protected his face – Emma couldn’t detect a poignant facial feature besides his eyes, but even here, she wasn’t sure of the color – and made it seem smaller than it really was.  She didn’t want to believe it fully, but someone with that much intensity could possibly commit a murder, if he was angry enough.

Maybe she could understand why those people were protesting him playing; watching him – a guy who could have possibly killed an old man – almost felt like she conspired to have Ken Brown killed too. 
Like she supported it.

But then she reminded herself that perhaps she, too, was making a quick judgment about him.  Maybe he didn’t do it.

Whether he did it or not, Emma couldn’t deny that Brandon Thorpe was good.  He made saves she thought were impossible.  But every time he did, fans, both supporting Phoenix and Newport, started to boo.  Almost to the point of distraction.

And as a result, she couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy.  Emma had no idea how he managed to keep his cool throughout the entire first period; if Emma had been in his place, she probably either would have started yelling at the crowd or skating off – well, staggering since she couldn’t skate – the ice in a fit of tears.  Yet, looking at Thorpe, he seemed to be totally and completely unaffected by it. 
Like he couldn’t hear them.

Was that even normal?

It was only seven minutes and fifteen seconds into the first period when Matt Peters, the captain of the Seagulls, began a fight with a member of the other team.  The fans started cheering and standing up to get a better view of the scene before them.

“How stupid,” her father muttered.  When he noticed his daughter’s curious gaze, he said, “Well, it’s preseason.  Fights in preseason are just asking for injury and we can’t afford to lose Peters because he hurts his hand over a fight that has to do with Thorpe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hockey players try and get under their opponents skin,” Jeremy said.  “Some jab players with their stick – normally goalies, but I’m just generalizing - and some cross-check a little more than necessary.  Others throw around words, insults.  Since Thorpe is obviously making headlines, Phoenix is probably trying to mess with the Gulls using Thorpe.  And the Gulls, they’re not exactly dirty but if they feel personally attacked, they get the job done.  What I’m guessing is that Benson wanted to mess with Peters, said something about Thorpe, and Matt felt like he needed to defend his teammate and got into this stupid fight.”

“Why aren’t the refs stopping it?” she asked, completely baffled at the scene that still continued before her.  “Look at them; they’re standing right there!  They can obviously see it.”

“There are numerous reasons why the refs don’t jump in, even though they should have stopped the fight before it even began,” Jeremy said, his voice tight.  Emma glanced up at her father and noticed he was getting more and more upset by the minute.  “A big one is that the crowds love fights, no matter what the consequences.

“You see that woman over there?”

Emma looked to where his father was pointing, away from the two players each skating to their individual penalty boxes.

“That’s Katella Hanson, Ken’s oldest granddaughter.”

“She’s the one dating Peters.”

“Yup,” Jeremy said.  “She’s been to every single home game since she started dating Matt, no matter what.  It didn’t matter if she had finals to study for or a girls’ night, she’s always here, even preseason.”

“She’s pretty,” Emma murmured, but even she knew that such a simple word didn’t accurately describe the woman sitting across the ice from them.  Katella was smirking but her eyes seemed to be touched with worry, almost as though she loved the fight but worried about the result.  Next to her sat another woman who looked nearly identical to Katella, save for a few minor differences.  “So is the woman sitting next to
her.”

“I think that’s the elusive Seraphina Hanson,” Jeremy said.  “The two look exactly alike, don’t they?  I’m glad to see that she’s here, if I’m being honest.  Even though she announced that she was going to take over
the team, I was worried that maybe she didn’t take it seriously.  Or do everything that needs to be done, but lacking the passion for the team.  I know she probably doesn’t have it just yet, but the fact that she’s here” - he pointed at Kyle Underwood, stopping himself in midsentence. 

“That’s the kid you have to watch Emma,” he said.  “I mean, look at him play.  He’s fast, he knows the team.  And even though he’s been playing since he was nineteen, he still seriously enjoys the game.”

Kyle Underwood?

Emma watched Kyle for a long moment, though hockey players seemed to change every couple of minutes, and decided that she agreed with her father.  She could make out his clear blue eyes, filled with excitement and anticipation, waiting for the ref to drop the puck after Phoenix was called for being offside.  She felt herself smiling as she continued to look, and she realized that it was rather easy to get swept away by his passion for the sport he played.

The more she looked at him, the more the butterflies that had been fluttering around in her stomach began crashing into each other, into the walls of her belly.  He wasn’t that attractive – well, okay, that wasn’t completely true.  She figured that just looking at him, one could garner some sort of affection for him.  He was tall, and that was always a plus.  And his eyes were so blue.  His hair fit with his pale, sometimes red, skin.  His lips were thin.  He was toned, fit.  And when he smiled, his entire face lit up, and in that moment, there was nothing in the room worth looking at except for him.  His voice was sweet, endearing, but also low and masculine.  And then there was the passion.  It was those things that were secondary physical characteristics that made him indescribably attractive to Emma.  That, and the flattery she felt that he had sought her out at the beach to talk to her.

But no.
  She had to stop thinking like that.  Sure, Emma knew that it was okay to be attracted to him.  Every girl needed eye candy if she was going to be spending long durations of her time at something that otherwise might have been boring.  And she couldn’t actually
like
him.  She was relationship-celibate in order to concentrate on school, her dad, and her dancing.  And Kyle Underwood would just mess that dynamic up.