Lucky Score (The Hawkeyes Hockey Series Book 6)

The next morning, my first flight from Seattle to LAX goes smoothly… right up until I walk past one of the airport bars to see a television screen with the weather channel on and a map of the coastline that I’m headed for.

With a hot coffee in one hand, my carry-on luggage rolling behind me, and my heavy laptop bag’s nylon strap digging into my shoulder, I stop dead in my tracks as I watch the weatherman point at the menacing-looking white and gray swirls on the screen headed right for Cancun, the city near where my beach house is located and the airport I’ll be flying into.

The sound isn’t turned up loud enough for me to hear the TV from where I’m standing in the walkway of the airport terminal and with my connecting flight about ready to board, I don’t have the time to stall any longer.

I can’t understand exactly what the weatherman is saying, but based on his overzealous hand movements sweeping across the coastline, matched with the large print letters flashing above him, “Storm Warning,” it’s safe to conclude that the hurricane is now coming close enough to warrant concern.

I hear my flight number being called over the intercom. The flight isn’t being delayed or canceled, which gives me some small amount of reassurance that the storm is still too far off-shore to stop flights in and out of the area.

My feet stay cemented in place, though I should be taking steps forward toward my flight’s gate. Instead, my instinct is to turn right back and rebook my flight back home.

But I can’t bring myself to do either of those two things.

I already told Daniel on our last call that I was going on this trip. He told me that he was proud of me so now the last thing I want to do is tell him that I chickened out and turned around in the LAX airport.

If I want to have any hope of Daniel returning to a better version of the woman he left, I need to prove that I won’t let my fear dictate our lives anymore.

This is a test.

A test that I need to pass.

Not just to prove to Daniel that I can change, but to prove to myself that fear doesn’t have to dictate my life if I don’t want it to.

Besides, this isn’t a tornado ripping through my college campus in Stillwater, Oklahoma… This is a hurricane that’s still not expected to hit land.

I hate that a little Seattle lightning storm can shake me with fear. I hate that loud claps of thunder will have me squeezing my eyes shut so tight that I can see stars as I reach out for a sleeping Daniel in the middle of the night.

Daniel and about a hundred other students huddled down in that basement bunker all endured the same tornado that demolished several of the buildings on our college campus that day, and it hasn’t caused him any of the same trauma that it has for me.

Daniel held me against his chest as we sat clinging to each other. The lights of the basement flickered wildly as the tornado came close to us until we lost power altogether, leaving us in the dark beside the small crawl space windows that let in barely any light.

Daniel’s dorm building was spared, and luckily, no one on campus was hurt, though the local hospital ER was overrun with injuries from students of the college and residents of the city.

I can still remember how the screaming and crying of others trapped with us made me feel.

There’s hopelessness in those moments. A feeling of dread and fear, knowing that there is nothing you can do about the inevitable outcome of your situation.

Your fate has already been decided and there is nothing you can do to change it.

Nothing I have ever experienced has made me feel so powerless and weak as hearing the wind howl and the brick building above us creak as it attempted to withstand one of Mother Nature’s most destructive forces.

Even the sound of heavy winds against my skyrise apartment in Seattle brings me back to being held hostage in the dingy, musty-smelling basement with Daniel’s arms wrapped firmly around me as he spoke against my temple, telling me that we would be ok.

I knew he couldn’t hold to any of the promises he made. He was as helpless to keep the tornado from barreling through the building above us as I was.

But nonetheless, I held him back as if my life depended on it, and he’s been my rock ever since.

My phone dings with a text.

It’s from Daniel.

I changed his contact on my phone the day he proposed and I haven’t had the heart to change it back. Here in another month, it won’t matter anyway.

Fiance: Where are you? Are you in Mexico yet? I just saw the storm warning.

My heart leaps seeing his contact come over my phone and knowing that he sees the risk I’m taking. I want this to mean something to him like it means something to me.

Brynn: Not yet, but I’m boarding my flight right now. They haven’t canceled the flight yet.

His reply is quick, and I can’t help but smile that he’s texting back quicker than he has in the last month. I’ve got his attention and that feels good after being apart for so long.

Fiance : Are you sure you should go? I won’t be there with you this time. Do you think you’re ready for this?

This is exactly the moment I’ve been waiting for.

The moment when Daniel sees that I’m taking this break to heart and that I’m trying to become the best version of myself for our future.

Brynn: This is what our break is for, isn’t it? I need to prove to myself that I can do this. And I’ll be spending most of my time inside writing anyway. What’s a little wind?

I walk up to my gate and listen to the conversation of nervous travelers, but none of them seem concerned enough not to board the aircraft.

I take my place in line as the gate agent quickly moves us all through, scanning our tickets as we walk by.

Once I’m in my seat and my luggage is stowed, I pull out my phone from my laptop bag to see Daniel’s text.

Fiance: I’m proud of you. Just be safe and keep me in the loop about the weather.

Seeing his text resurges me with newfound courage to keep pushing through my fears.

Brynn: I will. I just boarded. I’ll talk to you soon.

I want to wait to put my phone on airplane mode until I get a last text from him but then the pilot comes over the speaker.

“Good afternoon, this is your pilot speaking. On behalf of our crew today, we want to thank you for flying with us. We have been advised that Cancun is shutting down its inbound and outbound flights due to the increased storm warning. We will likely be one of the last aircrafts making it in tonight. With that being said, please help the flight staff by stowing away all of your things and turning your cellphones to airplane mode so that we can get off the ground as quickly as possible. We don’t miss our window to land in Cancun. We are expecting a little turbulence once we get closer to our final destination, so please always be aware of the fasten seatbelt sign at all times. Thank you and we hope to make your flying experience with us as comfortable as possible.”

I do as the pilot says and turn my phone to airplane mode. Whatever Daniel’s response is, it will have to wait until we touch down in Cancun.

Once I arrive, I’ll still have to get my rental car and drive another hour to the house.

Four and a half hours later and with half of it white knuckle turbulence, our aircraft finally lands safely on the ground.

The airport is packed with people everywhere I look. Babies are crying and people are building makeshift beds with their luggage as if preparing to sleep here all night.

The pilot mentioned that we would be the last flight allowed to land tonight and based on the way our aircraft rattled through the sky like a tin can being kicked down the street, I can see why the airport is shutting down flights in or out.

The moment I get my luggage, I head for the car rental desk. My heart sinks the second I see signs in front of every kiosk that says, “No Rentals Available”.

I look around only to find that not a single person is standing in at the customer’s desk and all the lights are off behind the desks. All the employees must have left already.

“They gave away any car that was available because of the storm. If you had a reservation, you’d better call to get a refund.”

I look to find an airport security woman speaking over her shoulder at me as she walks past.

“Wait, they can just give my reservation away like that?” I huff.

“Have you seen it outside? Or even all the stranded passengers around the airport. It’s every man for himself tonight.”

How am I going to get to my rental house now?

“My rental house is an hour’s drive from here? How am I supposed to get there without a rental car?” I ask quickly before she gets too far away.

“If I were you, I’d hurry out front and see if there are any taxis left willing to take you out that far. But I’d go now. Most everyone who can is headed home to get out of this storm.”

I don’t wait another second as I jog towards the glass double doors with my luggage in tow and out into the windy curbside of the terminal.

Frantically, I look for a taxi or rideshare of some sort. I’m relieved the moment I see a taxi van with its light still illuminated, showing that it’s vacant and taking fares.

I race up to the van as quickly as I can with my two bags wheeling behind me and my laptop bag, attempting to do everything in its power to trip me up, but I won’t be stopped.

“Can you take me here?” I ask, pushing my phone through his open window.

“That far, senorita?” he asks.

“Si, si. My rental car company gave away my reservation. I’ll pay whatever the fare is.”

I watch as he bends forward, attempting to look further into the dark night sky through his front windshield. Between the overcast clouds and the pouring rain, I can’t imagine he can see much, but it’s obvious from the look on his face that he’s concerned about taking me that far in this weather.

He nods reluctantly and then turns to open his car door quickly, racing around the van to help me put my things in the back of his van.

“We need to hurry. I need to get home to my family,” he says.

I’m sure he did the quick math in his head and the amount of money for this fare isn’t something he could pass up.

At this point I’d pay triple just to not end up stranded sleeping in the airports with the hundreds of other people waiting for the storm to pass so that they can catch a flight out of here.

He opens the back door of the van and loads my things into it as quickly as possible and then shuts it.

“Get in,” he hells over the loud rain pouring down on the metal covered terminal above us.

Then he runs back to his side of the van and gets in.

I jump into the passenger side front seat, putting my laptop bag down by my feet.

“The address?” he asks quickly.

His fingers wait anxiously for me to read it off so that he can input it into his system.

I give him the address on the confirmation email that I got from Sheridan and within less than a minute, my taxi driver pulls off the curb of the airport and we’re on our way.

A sigh of relief passes through my lips, watching the airport disappear in the car’s side mirror.

Over the next hour, the driver fields phone call after phone call, but with my minimal high school level Spanish speaking knowledge, all that I can sequester is that his wife, mother, and daughter all called him within the span of our hour drive.

The conversations seem to make him even more anxious about getting me to my destination so that he could get back home to his family.

The pitch-black night sky and the downpour of rain make it hard to see. His windshield wipes are doing all they can to keep up, but I can’t see much except for blobs that look like houses and palm trees. Luckily, my driver seems skilled and knows the roads well enough to keep up with the lines of the road, which seems harder to see with each passing moment.

I watch his navigation as the arrow on his screen creeps closer and closer to our destination.

Both relief and dread fill me at the thought of being alone in this storm.

I know I need peace and quiet with no distractions to write this book, but being in a hotel with other people could have potentially put my mind a little more at ease. As soon as my driver drops me off, I’ll be all alone in these high winds.

The thought makes my hands turn clammy, though in honesty… it could just be the humidity.

Finally, the driver pulls down a short driveway. A house that looks a little like the house in the pictures, comes into view, though this is the back of the house and they didn’t show much of those photos.

I read the house number and it matches up with the address on the email.

The rain seems as though it’s actually picked up more, if that’s even possible. I dread the idea of stepping out but the moment that my driver throws the van in park, he whips open his door and dashes out into the rain towards the back of the van.

This is it.

I need to make the most of it.

If I ever want to prove it to myself, Daniel, or my parents, this is the time.

I check the meter for the fare and am relieved to see that the rate is in both peso and dollar so that I can be sure I’m paying him the right amount. I pull out my wallet from my laptop bag and pull the cash I’ll need to pay him.

Then I pick up my laptop bag off the floor of the van and pull the strap over my shoulder. I wish now that I had kept the greatest tool of my profession in a waterproof bag.

My biggest concern is now to attempt to get inside the house before my laptop bag becomes waterlogged in this monsoon.

Reluctantly, I push open my own door and then take a breath before I step out of the car. Of course, with my luck… I land into a huge puddle. Grungy, silty water fills my flip-flops, leaving rough sand between my toes as I wade through it ankle-deep and head for the back of the van.

It takes less than thirty seconds for me to become completely soaked through my jeans and t-shirt.

There isn’t a dry spot on my body at this point.

I rush to the back of the van to find that the driver is already shutting the back door, and my two pieces of luggage are sitting in a couple of inches of water.

I roll my eyes at my situation, but I can’t waste time on it. I need to get my laptop into the house as quickly as possible before the storm ruins my only source of finishing this story.

I’m smart enough to have at least everything backed up to the cloud should something ever happen to this particular laptop, which might not be far off. Regarding technology, she’s probably considered a dinosaur at four years old and has been into the repair shop more times over the last two years than I’ve seen my gynecologist in the last five.

“Gracias,” I tell him and hand him the amount of money plus a hefty tip for bringing me all the way out here.

He takes the cash, gives it a quick glance, and then nods at me, folding the cash in half and then stuffing it into the small pocket of his shirt.

“Gracias, senorita. Good luck,” he says.

He then quickly turns back to his side of the van and hustles back to his door, wrenching it open and climbing in before slamming it shut again.

I barely have my hands on my luggage before he flips around in the wide driveway and heads back out to the main road.

I grab my things and run for the door, splashing up more water up my legs the quicker I run, but I don’t care anymore. My laptop is the only thing I care about right now and it needs a dry place as quickly as possible.

The rainwater stings against my bare arms as I make a dash for the house.

None of the beach houses along the way seem to have any lights on inside, but at this point it’s past one in the morning. Is everyone asleep? Or is everyone smarter than me and sought accommodations not this close to the beach and the storm raging out in that vast, deep, dark ocean?

Running around the side of the house to get to the front, which faces the ocean, I’m relieved when I notice that the front looks to have a covered porch. However, I noticed that the porch doesn’t look nearly as nice as the photos.

Isn’t that always how it is these days?

Nothing is ever quite as it seems online anymore.

At this point, I don’t even care what the place looks like as long as it’s dry inside and has a nice, comfy bed to sleep on.

Though if I’m making requests, a nice long shower wouldn’t hurt. And if I can be hopeful for a moment, maybe the last vacationers left some chamomile tea to help calm the knots in my stomach from this entire nerve-racking day.

I should be completely consumed with the question of how I’m going to sleep tonight with the wind and rain raging on tonight, but the relief of finally making it to my rental where I have a place to rest my head tonight, unlike all the people I saw in the airport, is currently counteracting my fears.

A motion light on the front porch kicks on and nearly has me tripping over my feet. It took me by surprise, but only for a second, when I thought that someone the renters before me may be stranded too and decided to stay in the house. But when I don’t hear the sound of the front door opening, I look over at the light and notice that it’s just a standard solar-powered motion detector light. I’m grateful to no longer be in the dark.

I step up onto the porch from the side of the house and walk up to the brick-colored front door. The storms are even louder under this cover as the rain puddles on the metal roof of the house. A keypad sits on the top of the handle, just as the instructions in the email mentioned.

I had a chance to look over the check-in list that the rental company sent to Sheridan as I was waiting for my flight to board this morning.

With my luggage sitting right side up next to me, and the rain no longer trying to drown me, I pull up my phone and look for the house code to enter into the keypad attached to the door.

Door Code #7777

I looked at the email again and reviewed the four-digit code. It seems a little too easy, if you ask me, but I’m too tired and too wet to think any more about it. Maybe they do that on purpose to make it easier for people to remember the code.

That’s certainly a logical explanation.

I could see myself forgetting a complex code, too, after spending a long day on the beach.

I step forward and input the four digits.

I give it a second but the code reader flashes red like I entered the wrong code.

It’s hard to imagine how I could have entered that incorrectly, but I’m so tired that maybe I only hit three of the four digits.

I try a second time, but again, the code reader flashes red at me again.

Damn it.

I check my email again and read through the entire thing. Unfortunately, no other code is found in the email.

I question whether or not there was a door at the back of the house that this code could belong to, but the instructions clearly state that the code belongs to the front door, and all I remember about the back of the house was a garage door—no man door. I could walk back around and try to see if there is a code to the garage door, but I am not stepping out into that rain until I’m sure that I’ve exhausted all other avenues to get in from this entrance.

My arms are beet-red from the stinging of the rain and high winds, causing my wet clothes to freeze against my body.

I enter the number for a third time, but just like all the times before, the red light practically laughs in my face.

I make a growling noise and then input the number two more times in quick, rapid succession, only to be met with more failure.

I let out an annoyed scream, but it did little to lessen the tension headache that has been starting to form since I saw the weather report in the LAX terminal.

I take a deep breath and decide to very carefully enter the number one last time before I break down and call Sheridan while she is undoubtedly asleep.

I reach for the door, but as if by magic, it swings open as I twist the handle. Only, there’s no fairy Godmother on the other side.

Instead, my eyes bulge out of their sockets, and my heart practically explodes in shock as a shirtless spartan in only a pair of boxer briefs whips open the door.

Skin… so much tanned bare skin.

And bulging muscles.

Finally, my eyes make it up to his face.

I don’t follow hockey closely, but this man is easily recognizable.

Lucky Wrenley

Goalie for the Hawkeyes hockey team and the same face I’ve seen plastered over the jumbotron that hangs on the side of the Hockey Stadium only a couple blocks from my apartment. He’s one of the oldest players on the team and at least ten years older than me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls.

I’m not completely sure if that’s rainwater that just dripped down my leg or if I just peed myself a little.