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“What? 
Yeah.”  He nodded his head, his wrists hanging limply from the armrests.  “I was released from police custody last night.  Well, I guess since I was never officially arrested, I could have left whenever I wanted, but I guess” – he raised his arm to reach back and cup the back of his neck – “I just wanted to cooperate.  When they realized they didn’t have enough to get a warrant to arrest me, they let me go.”

“Why are you here?”  Obviously, Seraphina had yet to master thinking before speaking, and as a result, a telling blush began to slither across her face.  “I’m sorry.  The question was rude.  I just figured you’d be at home, sleeping, or at least getting some kind of massage.”  At his confused look, Seraphina felt her new pink
color crimson, and she explained, “You know.  For your back.  Because of the chairs.  Surely they must be uncomfortable.”

Brandon’s lips curled up and he started to chuckle, slowly at first, but it continued to build up.  Seraphina wasn’t certain if he was laughing at something she said – though, looking back on the conversation, she didn’t think she said something funny – or if he was laughing at her – a much more likely scenario – but she felt herself force a tight smile and nod, as though she, too, were in on the joke.

Which she wasn’t.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.  Apparently, he wasn’t going to explain just what was so funny.  “No, my back is fine.  Well, maybe I’ll schedule one for later.  I actually came here for another reason.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Well, duh.

Seraphina couldn’t believe the thought hadn’t struck her before.

“The team already left for Vancouver for the game,” Seraphina explained.  Her voice sounded more certain now that she knew why he was here.  “If I had known you would have been released last night, I would have told Henry and they would have waited for a bit.”

Brandon shook his head about halfway through her sentence.  “No, that’s not it either,” he told her.  He opened his eyes, locking them
with her own.  Seraphina inhaled sharply, once again stricken by how piercing they were.  Like they could see right through the armor she had so diligently placed not only around her heart, but her very soul.  “Actually, I wanted to thank you.”

What?

“What?”  She wasn’t sure she heard him right.  He wanted to thank her?  For what, exactly?

He smiled again, slowly, and Seraphina’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of it.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said again.  “I know I’ve said it before, but I just wanted to tell you, again, how much I appreciate the fact that you’ve consistently believed in me.  But…”

Ah.  There it was.  There always seemed a ‘but’ anytime a man said something sweet.

“I think maybe it would be better if I didn’t resign with the Gulls.”

Tension suddenly swarmed into the room, with as much determination as mosquitoes following an unsuspecting family on an outdoor camping trip, and filled as much space.  Immediately, Seraphina’s eyes narrowed at the man before her and her muscles tightened.  All thoughts of transparency and skipped heartbeats vanished from her mind.  Now, they were talking business, and it seemed that Brandon Thorpe wanted to quit when things got rough.  Nothing annoyed her more than when people gave up without actually trying, whether it was business, boys, school, and family.

And right now, Brandon Thorpe wanted to run away.

“Excuse me?”  Perhaps her voice was a tad shrill – she absolutely hated that word – but Seraphina couldn’t help her reaction even if she wanted to.  She had no patience for people who would rather take the easy way out than stay and deal with problem at hand.

“Yeah.”  If Brandon detected the added sharpness to her voice, he didn’t show it.  He was looking at her with a passive expression, his body completely relaxed.  Those eyes still have nothing away.  And this seemed to only add more to her increasing aggravation with the net minder.  “I just feel” – finally, he dropped his arm in his lap – “that it’ll just be easier for everyone involved.  You’ve seen the fans at the games, you’ve heard them booing me.  It’s likely that they’ll turn from just me to booing the entire team, which means the team takes a hit, both financially and emotionally.  You’ve just been ripped to pieces in the press, even before I became an official suspect, and it’s only gotten worse for you” –

Seraphina held up a hand to cut him off.  “I’m fine, thanks,” she said in a voice that was anything but.  “I can take care of myself.  I always knew I’d be criticized in the press for the way I run this team, especially during the beginning and especially because I can’t replace my grandfather.  That’s the job.  It’s something I have to deal with.  And if fans turn on the team they’re not really fans.”  She paused, taking a deep breath.  She looked him in the eyes – whether they could see through her or not – in order to convey just how serious she was.  “This was always going to be hard for me.  But for whatever reason, my grandfather chose me.  And I
have to believe in that.  It’s what keeps me going, despite how the press writes about me.  My grandfather was never going to trade you.  I believe that with every fiber of my being.  Don’t ask me why I believe that, I just do.  But.  If you want to leave for your own personal reasons, that’s fine.  But don’t do this for me or for the team or for anybody else except you.  Now if you’ll excuse me…”

In all honesty, Seraphina had nothing else to do, but she didn’t want to continue this conversation with Thorpe.  And she didn’t want to say anything stupid or annoying or funny, especially when the last way she wanted to come across was funny.

Wait a minute…

Seraphina glanced at the digital clock once again.  She actually
did
have something to do.

“… I have a meeting,” she finished.

She looked at Thorpe, hoping he would get the message.  In fact, he did because he stood.  But that calm look still tainted his face.  Every aspect of it, save for his eyes.  Those eyes were inquiring, looking at her enigmatically.  She couldn’t read them.  And she didn’t think she wanted to.

He left.

Just then, Seraphina heard an unfamiliar
tap-tap-tap
against the hard floor leading up to her office.  At first, she thought it was Thorpe walking away from the room, but the sound was coming closer, and Brandon had been wearing flip flops.

Not that she had noticed or anything.

Since Brandon had left the door the door open, Simon breezed in, leading with his cane.  Underneath his arm were the financial books Seraphina had requested.  He was dressed rather formally – much like he had been in Earl James small practice – down to the pressed white gloves.

“Here you are,” he said.  He smiled warmly at her as he handed her the books.  “I wanted to mention something to you, Miss Hanson.  The numbers in the books don’t show it, but your grandfather came to me with the hopes of selling the team in order to retire so he could spend more time with you and your sister.  Of course,
I completely respect whatever choice you make in regards to the hockey team, but I thought it was only right for you to know.”  He began to turn, giving her a curt nod, before he headed out the office.

There it was. 
The missing piece.

Click.

She would have to call Katella.

But then Simon Spade stopped and turned his head so he stared into her eyes.  Not like Brandon Thorpe did, but still, as though he could see straight through her.  She shivered.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Hanson,” he said in a quiet voice before
tap-tap-tapping
away.

25
.
 
Friday, to Madison, meant no school.  Normally, she would be at Sea Side Ice Palace with the rest of the Gulls Girls, practicing their skating and just having a good, relaxing time, but since today was an away game, she really had nothing on her plate.  Since UCI was on a quarter system, school moved really fast.  She already had a couple of papers due the next week, both of which she had already started on them.  Perhaps, she could dedicate a couple of hours later today for adding to them.  But right now, at eleven o’clock in the morning, she wasn’t in the mood to do anything relating education just yet.

Although, she did have other homework she could do, so to speak.  Katella had asked her to give more thought to holding some sort of memorial for Ken Brown. 

Madison stared up at her ceiling, still in her pajamas, her arms resting flat on her stomach.  The California sunshine tried to break through the blinds she had kept closed since she got her dorm room, and it actually managed to succeed but only slightly.  She was paranoid, after reading many articles in
Cosmopolitan
about how women left their blinds open and doors unlocked and strangers would let themselves in, rape the unsuspecting woman, and possibly kill her afterwards.  Even though Madison came from a small town in Michigan, where there was no reason to lock the doors, Madison did it almost at an obsessive rate.  Yeah, she could admit it, she was paranoid.  It didn’t matter that her dorm room – which she managed to snag as a single, thank God – was located on the second floor of Campus Village, a section of dormitories for students who wanted a more individual lifestyle or that the school itself was located in Irvine – arguably the safest city in the nation; Madison locked her door, even when she was home, and kept her blinds shut for the most part.  She refused to be another statistic.

What could she come up with that would be both respectful, a place for fans to get their closure, but not completely sad?  It didn’t have to be formal, but people could still pay their respects.

First, she’d have to think of a venue.  Where would people be willing to drive in order to commemorate Ken?  Maybe Sea Side would be perfect.  Those that knew Ken – both personally and as the Gulls manager and owner – knew that he loved the rink.  He loved his work.  And it would almost be like they would be coming to a game.

Madison sat up straight, an idea picking a hole inside of her mind.

“What if it was a game?” she mumbled to herself.

She scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over herself because of the mint green blanket that had twisted itself around her ankle, and rushed over to her nearby desk.  She grabbed a pen and her planner that was left open on this week’s page before flipping forward a couple of pages until she landed on the first week of October.  There, marked with a black
Sharpie, was the first game, the season opener: Friday, October 8, against the Gulls’ biggest rival, the Los Angeles Centaurs.

What if they honored Ken’s memory at the game?

Madison scrawled a couple of notes to herself regarding the idea.  She wasn’t sure how to pull it off, or if Katella would want something so public in correlation with honoring her grandfather, but it was an idea, and Madison thought it was a pretty good one.

When she finished, she stretched, trying to figure out what else she could do that day.  Madison wished she had a few more books to read – fun books, not required reading books – so a trip to the bookstore definitely wouldn’t be out of the question.  But for now, she probably should call her family.  She hadn’t talked to them since she first got here and they were probably worried.  Well, her mother probably was.  Her father was probably too busy getting ready for hockey season coming up while her three sisters were more interested in boys and school and clothes than what their older sister’s been up to.  But that didn’t mean that Madison didn’t miss them.

It was Friday, though.  Just because there were no classes for her, she knew that high school was much different and most certainly had school today.

Although… it was after two o’clock in Michigan.
  Maybe she’d get lucky and her sisters would just be getting home.

Her mother answered after the second ring.  “Montgomery residence,” she said.

Madison didn’t realize just how much she missed her mother up until that moment.  Her mother’s voice had a slight twang to it, and had been answering the phone the same way as long as Madison could remember.  That sameness was reassuring, that just because Madison’s life was changing and new and a little bit unsteady right now, her mother still sounded the same, still greeted callers with the same phrase she had for years.

Maybe she was lonelier than she had anticipated.

“Mom?”  Even though she was feeling lonely and tears had accumulated in the lids of her eyes didn’t mean that she wanted to sound that way.

But her mother jumped on it.  “Oh Madison!” she exclaimed sounding so incredibly happy that her first daughter was taking the time to talk about her.  “How are you?  How’s California?  How’s your job?”

Madison inhaled sharply.  She absolutely hated lying to her mother about where she worked, but her parents were rather conservative.  Despite her father’s love of the sport, being an Ice Girl, a Gulls Girl, wasn’t something they’d be too pleased about, especially her father.  In fact, Madison hadn’t owned a miniskirt or short shorts since she had moved to California and out of her parents’ house.  He had no problem telling his daughters if they looked too done up, too whorish, as he so eloquently put it, when they went out.  So finding out that his daughter was one of
those
girls, girls that were paid to wear revealing outfits so they could scrape off ice for a national hockey team would be like finding out that his daughter was a stripper or a prostitute.  Madison knew her mother wasn’t as restrictive as her father, but she was demure and liked to avoid confrontation whenever possible, especially with her husband.