Kiss My Ice

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9.

My day could not have gotten a worse start.

I woke up feeling like someone had taken a hammer to my head and left me to die. My mouth was dry like I hadn't had a taste of water in months. The light that peaked through my cream curtains physically hurt. Strike one.

"What the hell happened last night?" I mumbled and pulled one of my pillows over my face to block out the light. The last thing I remembered was sitting around the fire. I could remember the people there, but I couldn't remember what we had been doing.

I shot up, suddenly remembering that I had a meeting with Mark and Lance this morning. My hand flew to my head. Note to self, don't move too fast.

I squinted in the direction of the clock on my wall. 7:05. Crap, I was going to be late to the meeting. I had twenty-five minutes to get to the rink, and a twenty-minute car ride. That barely gave me time to throw on clothes. There was definitely no time for me to nurse my head.

There was no time to spare. By the time I made it to the rink and got inside, I was already fifteen minutes late for the meeting. And with my head, the queasy feeling in my stomach, and the fact that light was killing my head; I was not tuned into the meeting. I was hearing the words but not processing them. Strike two.

"Zoe?" Lance asked, pulling me from my daze. I looked up at him. "Are you feeling okay?"

I nodded faintly. Sure.

"Are you clear on everything? I already filled Aiden in this morning."

I definitely was not clear on a single thing. My head was too busy swirling to have been paying attention. Hockey...Mark said something about hockey. Maybe he wanted us to start with that.

"Yeah," I heard myself say.

Lance and Mark exchanged a look of concern. I don't think that either one of them believed that I was okay or that I was clear on their instructions.

"Okay then." Lance cleared his throat. He lifted his right, gestured in the direction of the door. "You are free to leave. Don't forget you have your first practice with Aiden at 10:00."

Practice with an arrogant hockey head? Strike three.

I felt myself nod like I was aware of everything they had said and rose to my feet. Once free of the office, I rubbed my hands over my eyes. The lights were killing me. The Advil I had taken before leaving had done nothing to help.

What had I done last night that made me feel like this? I just wanted to go home and curl up into a ball on my bed. Sleep away the pain.

My hand glued to my forehead as I started for the locker rooms. The pressure against my temple helped to soothe the pounding ever so slightly. Someone must have hit me over the head with a baseball bat.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Chris said coming up from the right of me. "But you look awful."

I snapped my head in his direction, then mentally cursed myself for the harsh movement. Ow. "Gee, thanks."

He chuckled. The smile on his face irritated me. Why was he so peppy? "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine." Again with the lies. I was not fine.

"Really? Because you were in really rough shape last night when I left."

I lowered my hand, my eyes narrowed onto his. He was being nice to me again, acting all genuine – like we were good friends. "Why?"