The palace is heavily decorated in Bellerive Blue and silver, the colors of the Bellerive Bullets, the World Hockey League's newest franchise team. As with anything the palace does, it's tasteful, but it still makes me laugh a little on the inside.

Bellerive has an ice hockey team. Bananas. What the hell does anyone on this island know about ice hockey? Most people have never even set foot on an icy surface, let alone a rink. The yearly winter festival near Christmas with temporary, artificial ice hardly counts. It's not even at the level of recreational skating—it's the equivalent of tourist ice skating.

The good news for the team and the island is that anyone with cash to, quite literally, burn, has shown up tonight. Tickets for the arena are supposed to be extremely expensive in the premium seats to make the ones higher up more affordable for the general population of the country. 

I haven't decided yet how I feel about that tiered system, but like anything tied to money and status in Bellerive, it's generated discussion, a bit of buzz. Those who have the money have already bought season tickets in the most expensive sections as a flex.

"When do the hot hockey players arrive?" Ava asks, staring mournfully at the door, a blue drink already in her hand. Her pale blue dress is low cut and clings to every inch of her curvy frame.

"They're not going to invest in one of your businesses," I say, eyeing her.

"There's only one thing I want them sinking into, and it's not any of my business plans." She gives me a sly smile and tips back her drink. "I need another one."

She weaves through the crowd, and I sincerely wonder if it's possible for anyone in the world to tame her.

"Ava told me she plans to see how many of the hockey bros she can sample in the first year," Hollyn says, appearing at my other side to pass me a drink.

"As long as she stays away from the married ones," I mutter.

"I thought her and Stephen Foster were a thing," Hollyn says, her gaze appearing to follow Ava as she breezes around the room, mingling, laughing, moving on.

"The police officer? I try really hard not to think about that or ask about it," I admit. "Ava is very blasé about whatever has or hasn't happened, and I'm not sure he is."

"She doesn't like him?"

"More like she likes money, and Stephen will never have enough of it. She'd kill me for saying it, but she's status obsessed like our mother."

"That's a shame," Hollyn says, her voice quiet. "Ava's also the only one who's still talking to your mother, right?"

"Yep," I say, taking a long drink. "None of us want anything to do with her after what she did to you and Nathaniel. The whole Ember thing was a bit sketchy too, but it felt forgivable at the time, since everything worked out. She's been walking a fine line with us for most of our lives. Claiming to be protective of us while really just protecting her reputation." The words coming out of my mouth are bitter. I know all that about my mother, and yet I was incapable of recognizing the same behavior elsewhere.

"Have you met your new charge yet? Logan, isn't it?"

"Logan Bishop. Twenty-one. Top scorer. A forward—whatever that means. I know nothing about hockey."

"No one on this island knows anything about hockey."

"King Alex wanted to get Queen Rory a rink so badly, he did whatever it took to make it happen."

"I always find it so funny that you call the king and queen by their nicknames."

"They're just people," I say, "but I am more careful with formality when I'm out in Bellerive society. Too many people care too much about all of it."

Trumpets—actual trumpets—sound, and I shake my head at the ridiculous lengths my father and Alex are prepared to go to usher in this new era in Bellerive. I wish I had faith that it would stick, but worrying about the viability of a professional WHL team on the island isn't part of any job description I have or want.

The hockey team makes their way down the royal gauntlet, as I like to call it. Alex, Rory, young Grace, Alex's mother, Nick, Jules, toddler Amelia, Brice, and Maren.

In six months, Maren will officially be a Summerset royal. Seems hard to believe one of my little sisters will be on her second marriage when I've never even come close to a first.

Though, that's not really true—I'd been close to making a bad decision, just like Maren made the first time. Painfully, painfully close.

"Do you know which one is him?" Hollyn asks.

I take my phone out of my clutch and scan the text from Tamiko. "He'll be the last one through. He's not thrilled to be here."

"Can't blame him. The palace is a lot," Hollyn says gazing around. "Though there seem to be quite a few people excited to meet the team."

I glance up from my phone to see Ava with Ember and Gage just past the receiving line. Ava looks like the cat who's about to catch the canary.

"None more so than my sister," I say, catching a glimpse of Tamiko walking beside a tall, hulking man.

While I'd known he was tall—six foot five—I hadn't thought enough about exactly what that height would mean in person. As they finish the royal gauntlet, Tamiko steers him toward me, and my heart does a weird kick in my chest.

Nerves.

The sensation is one I've experienced a lot in the last few months, and I don't know why I didn't consider that throwing myself into a new career avenue might produce the exact feeling I wanted to avoid.

I'm not drowning, I'm floating, and soon I'll be swimming.

The reminder calms the flare up of anxiety.

"Sawyer Tucker," Tamiko says when she's close enough, Logan trailing slightly behind her, "this is Logan Bishop."

"You're Sawyer?" His voice is low and gruff, and although it suits how tall and wide he is, it's a more mature sound than I expected. I'd heard his voice on TV, but I'd been so focused on his stiff presentation, that I hadn't considered his pitch and tenor. He still has a beard, though it's tidy now, and his hazel eyes have the wary quality I noted in the videos.

"That's me," I say, holding out my hand to shake.

He doesn't make a move to take it. "You're the one who's going to be training me?"

"I'm your physiotherapist."

"I asked for a trainer." He turns to Tamiko, his expression unreadable. "My contract says a trainer."

"What is it you want a trainer to do?" I ask, genuinely curious. His intensity is surprising.

"Prevent me from getting injured. I don't want someone after the fact. I want to stop it from happening at all."

"I have my doctorate in physical therapy," I say. "I'm confident that whatever you need, I can provide it."

"But you don't know what I need," he says, irritation clear in his tone. "My contract is very clear."

"You two getting to know each other?" my father asks, ambling over.

"Something like that," Logan says. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here," he mutters, turning away.

"Sawyer is an extremely talented physiotherapist," my father brags, and I have no idea how he'd know if that claim was true. "Best on the island."

Logan focuses on the ceiling and seems to be gathering himself. The hothead personality I was warned about might be ready to rear its head. "You worked with a professional sports organization before?"

"When I did my doctorate at Northern University, I worked in their athletics department. My experience there was pretty vast."

"And since then?" he asks.

"All my experiences since then have been on the island." Where there were no professional teams until now. I'm sure we're both thinking it.

He runs a hand through his dark brown hair that's still shaggy. His obvious frustration at my level of experience—despite having a doctorate—starts to snuff out my confidence. While I'm not sure I can make him love Bellerive, I am sure I can treat any injury. One man is not going to make me feel like I don't know what I'm doing—not again.

"What a fucking Mickey Mouse organization this is," he mutters.

"Wayne Gretzky," my dad says with a hint of admiration. "New Jersey Devils."

Logan turns toward my dad, and his eyes narrow. "You actually know something about hockey?"

"Bringing the team here was my idea," my dad says. "Let's get a drink. I'll tell you how I envision getting us out of a Mickey Mouse organization into something worth celebrating—maybe even with a cup."

Logan's nod is slow to come, but he follows my father toward the bar.

"He's intense," Hollyn says, her gaze shifting between me and Tamiko.

I stare after him and wonder what I've gotten myself into.

"He was the last player to arrive on the island. The last one to enter the party. He's difficult, but not exactly unpleasant." Tamiko worries her lip. "It's very clear he doesn't want to be here."

At the bar, he's talking to my dad, and the lines between his brows suggest he's listening intently but not quite on board with whatever my father is trying to sell him as a vision. 

I have no doubt my dad does know a thing or two about hockey. He's loved professional sports—all kinds of them—ever since I can remember, but that's not the same as running a team. Up until now, I've only considered the impact of bringing the team to the island, but I hadn't really thought about how the players and staff must feel.

Their lives have been uprooted. Brought to a small island in the middle of nowhere that doesn't even get a proper winter or any history with ice-related sports. If I'm not exactly what Logan pictured or anticipated, I can see how he'd start to wonder if he's come here to watch his career tank. The arena is nice—extremely well done—but that doesn't equate to a functioning team.

"I think if I was him," I say, carefully, "I'd be a little worried too. A bit uneasy. You said he was a top scorer, right?"

"Top ten in the league since he joined the team at eighteen."

"The coach came, though, right?" I ask, turning to Tamiko. Up until now, I haven't asked many questions. I said yes to the job in the hopes of shaking off my experiences over the last few months, giving myself a fresh start at something new. But I haven't spent much time thinking outside myself.

"Head coach, yes. It's a new assistant coach. Most of the team management is the same. I'm learning a lot about the organizational structure as we go," she admits. "Logan is, maybe rightfully, a bit pissed that no one on the island seems to know enough."

"If the one thing I really cared about wasn't being taken seriously by the people who need to take it seriously, I think I'd be angry and frustrated too," I say.

"I wouldn't say there's anyone who's not taking it seriously," Tamiko says, straightening. "Those of us on the island who aren't familiar with ice hockey or professional sports have a lot to learn, that's all."

I'm not going to push, but I can see how being given to an organization that has a lot to learn would be irritating, even if everyone is trying their best.

"I'll go talk to him tomorrow," I say. "Maybe we can get off on a different foot with each other."

"Good luck," Tamiko says. "I used my loveliest, most professional voice today, and he was as cold as ice."

And I don't know how well I'll stand up under his icy exterior tomorrow either. But it's a good test for me to see whether I'll wilt under his disapproval, whether the damage to my roots goes far deeper than I want to admit. 

Thanks to everyone who took the time to comment on the previous chapter! I appreciate it. I'm going to try for Monday night/Tuesday morning as an update time. I usually publish between 10 pm EST on Monday and midnight Tuesday EST. It'll only be once a week for now, but I'm hoping to add a second soon (ish).

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