From the Beginning_A Prescott Family Story Read online

  Copyright © 2016 by Mignon Mykel

  Originally published as NEUTRAL ZONE, Lulu.com printing 2009

  Cover Design by oh so novel

  Cover Image Source : © Geoffgoldswain | Dreamstime.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a media retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher of this book, excepting of brief quotations for use in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 1530703239

  ISBN-13: 978-1530703234

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  I would like to say thank you to the men playing for the American Hockey League’s Peoria Rivermen team from February to April of 2008, for interesting me in the game (to the point of writing a book, potentially series, and for allowing me to be a season ticket holder – who lived three hours away), and to the 2008-2009 team; to Cam Keith, of the February to April group, for answering my small “interview” questions; and to one player in particular whose style and passion for the game helped form Noah Prescott.

  Please note that while Beloit is a true city in Wisconsin, it has been fictionalized to a point for the sake of the story.

  To Nicole… It’s finished!! Now for the rest of the books…

  Prologue

  “Good luck, Press.”

  “Later, No.”

  “Pussy whipped, man. Pussy whipped.”

  The last was given to him with a broad smile and a slap on the shoulder. Coming from his best friend, the reminder from many years ago held very little heat.

  “You better show your ass this summer at the lake house, Teague,” Noah told him, pointing his finger at the goaltender as the man continued walking away.

  “Boating, cliff jumping, beer, and fire? You bet your soon to be atrophying ass I’ll be there.”

  Noah chuckled and shot Teague Ketterhagen the bird before looking at his locker for the last time.

  He stuffed his last jersey in his duffle.

  Left his helmet in its cubby.

  Tied the laces of his skates together for easier carrying.

  In the back corner of his locker was a picture from ten years ago, and another from the previous Christmas. With a smile, he gently peeled them off the wood walls and put them in one of his skates. Last, he peeled the PRESCOTT from the top of his locker and put that in his skate as well.

  With one last look around the now empty locker room, he breathed in deep and smiled to himself. Most of these men were friends. Friends he would see again.

  But right now?

  Right now, Noah was going home.

  Chapter One

  Eleven Years Ago

  Of all the stupid, juvenile things I could have done, that certainly put the icing on the cake.

  I turned at the top of the stairs just in time to see my best friend slide the folded piece of paper into number eleven’s gloved hand. Writing the note had been fun and sure, the idea of him reading it had been thrilling.

  Originally.

  But now?

  Now I just wanted to hurl.

  How the hell did I allow Savannah to talk me into this? This… wantonness… was not me. I didn’t write random men random notes, and I sure as hell didn’t give said notes to them. Especially when the man on the receiving end was a professional athlete!

  They had terms for girls who did things like that:

  Puck bunnies.

  The nauseous feelings were swirling again; I took a deep breath to try and calm the pounding in my chest. I was pretty sure that if I held my hands out in front of me my fingers would be trembling. The only difference between me and the women who threw themselves at Noah Prescott was I kept my cleavage covered, my legs crossed, and my eyes down.

  Even if I were willing to take on the ‘puck bunny’ label, I’m pretty sure Noah had a type and I was not it. I’ve seen him around town with willowy blondes with hair down to their bottoms.

  Every team had its gorgeous player. Noah was the Enforcers’. Hell, I even heard an older gentleman make a comment on it once, stating, “That Prescott boy’s a good looking fellow.”

  A grinding left wing for the Beloit Enforcers, an American Hockey League team playing in its inaugural season, Noah was one of the few veterans on the team. The majority of the players were rookies and the team usually played like it.

  In most cases, one could look at a team and see what experience the players had. A true fan could look and see where the depth was.

  The depth on this team wasn’t all that deep.

  I averted my eyes to take in the arena, most of which had already cleared. To be honest, it started clearing in the middle of the third. While the arena could sit a good ten thousand people on any given day, the Enforcers were lucky to fill a quarter of the place. It was generally the away teams that filled the seats. I’m sure all the negative energy affected the players. How could it not?

  I saw the potential in this team, though. I saw the drive of the players. This team could become something in time.

  Like the majority of Enforcer fans, I hadn’t even been a hockey fan before they came to town. Going to games was something I could do in a city I was new to. Earlier in the year, I came to Beloit when I was offered a permanent substitute teaching position at the local elementary school. My real passion was photography, but I knew I had to have a consistent income before I even thought about making the transition to self-employed.

  With the ‘big girl job,’ I moved into a cute new apartment complex just on the outside of town and fell in love with the smaller-city feel.

  My friend Savannah, the culprit in this mess I found myself in at the moment, was all about finding odd things to do. Just prior to the season opening, right after San Diego labeled Beloit as their new farm team, she heard about the team’s “Family Night” and dragged me along. It was a pretty fun night. There had been a skills competition between the prospects, followed by a scrimmage. The event mainly served as a showcase for the men vying for a spot on the roster, with ultimate goals of eventually moving up the ladder to San Diego.

  After the scrimmage, there’d been an autograph line. It was in line that I first truly got a glimpse of Noah Prescott and like that, my nerves had been fried. I pulled Savannah out of line and begged to go home.

  I wasn’t quite sure what drew me to Noah. Like many females, I was drawn to handsome men. But like I said, I knew I could never compete wit
h the women an athlete looked at. I’m a pretty level-headed girl in that regard. I don’t bother wasting energy on something I know I cannot complete. For whatever reason though, my eye always went to Noah – on the bench, on the ice, in the post-game interviews. In some weird sixth-sense sort of way, I always knew where to find him before even looking. The sane part of my mind, which I certainly hoped was the majority of it, labeled the whole thing as weird.

  Just plain weird.

  However, that ever slight crazed part of my mind had me looking up Noah’s profile that first night. According to the team’s roster and stats, Noah was only a few years older than my twenty-three. His picture hadn’t been the best, but the part that continued to stay with me was his eyes.

  I was a sucker for eyes. It wasn’t just the color I found myself attracted to, but the shape, the youthfulness, the ability to read… I couldn’t be sure of Noah’s eye color, I tended to lower my eyes whenever his locked with mine, but they had a nice shape to them. More than that, you could see his youthfulness and joy for playing the sport.

  It didn’t matter if I found a guy attractive though, professional athlete or not. I rarely talked to a guy I didn’t know further than hello. I blamed it on the absenteeism of my father.

  “He took it,” Savannah said as she climbed the stairs two at a time, interrupting me briefly from my thoughts. Savannah was the poster child for what a female should be like. Confident, gorgeous… all the qualities I could only wish I had. Instead, I tended to be cynical toward myself and could hardly say I had a confident bone in my body. The last time I could recall being comfortable and confident was when I’d been in a relationship…

  Five years ago.

  I know, I know, you shouldn’t be in a relationship unless you truly liked and accepted yourself, but I seemed to appreciate myself more while in a relationship.

  Where Savannah looked cool and calm in jeans and a hoodie, I wasn’t rocking similar attire nearly as well. I could pass for pretty, I’d give myself that, but gorgeous? That was a stretch. I had a face that was a bit more square-shaped than I cared for, my hair an accidental shade of auburn I hadn’t been prepared for, and eyes a weird shade of blue that actually passed more for grey. My hair color was naturally a golden blond, but a depressed day had me running to a salon for a total change.

  Well, change I got.

  The dark shade had the blues popping out more, so that was kind of cool.

  “He looked pissed,” I said, looking past Savannah again only to catch Noah walking into the tunnel…

  But not without first looking up the stairs toward me.

  I really hoped my cheeks weren’t turning red.

  Savannah didn’t seem to notice, or rather, she didn’t call me out on it. I turned and together we finished climbing the stairs to exit the bowl. “You would be pissed too if your team just lost its sixteenth game in a row… and at home, nonetheless.”

  My defensive frown was automatic. “They won a few in between.”

  “Like two,” Savannah retorted.

  They won more than two.

  “It’s amazing I still let you drag me to these things,” Savannah continued, as if starting this hockey adventure hadn’t been her idea.

  “Don’t be mean.”

  “Just stating the truth,” she nonchalantly muttered.

  “They have more heart and passion than some of the guys on the other teams combined,” I said, standing up for the only hockey team I’d ever had interest in. “There is so much potential in this team, if only they’d all apply it at the same time.”

  Did I mention that once I found passion in something, I devoured up everything I could on the matter? Between Hockey for Dummies and every single webpage I could find, I learned the ins and outs of the game rather quickly. Netflix was put aside for NHL Live, and I tried to catch a televised NHL game any chance I could. I learned different key current players and what made them tick. I knew what teams had beef and what ones would simply play the game amicably.

  “You still want my kid for next week’s post-skate?” Savannah said, once again interrupting my train of thought. I would be lost in my head if it weren’t for this girl.

  Savannah’s daughter, Sage, was three and at times could be the devil himself, with all that the terrible twos, threes, and Ts brought forth, but she seemed to have just as much fun as I did at these post-skates.

  “If it’s ok with you.” I shrugged. “You and Jake can take a night off; Sage and I can do an auntie-niece night.”

  Savannah nodded but before she could speak, we reached the rest of the crowd. It was a serious traffic jam on feet.

  “How many Chicago fans does it take to open up one of twelve doors?” Savannah muttered to me.

  With a quick grin and a light laugh, I replied, “Apparently the entire lot of them.”

  On any other day, I would have just thrown it away.

  Today wasn’t special, not by any means, so honestly I couldn’t tell you why I hadn’t tossed the small slip of paper.

  Usually the notes passed by women were some kind of invitation or another. Sure, I got a quick laugh out of them but for as big of a reputation as I had, I wasn’t one to actually follow through with the quick one-and-done invites. I didn’t care much for the casual, while-in-the-city one-night stands. I had too much on my plate.

  It was difficult enough trying to keep my parents and sibling in line and in the loop while waiting for that one phone call, the one meeting that told you that you were either being traded or finally being moved up.

  Or down for that matter.

  I’d been playing hockey since I could lace up my first pair of skates. Of course, learning to skate was as natural as walking when growing up in the U.P., especially with the frequent trips across the border to visit my dad’s family in Ontario.

  After my senior year season of high school hockey, I was selected to play for an Indiana USHL team. From there, I was offered a scholarship to Wisconsin, where I ended up playing my full four years. Right after Indiana I was also a late-round pick for Chicago; between Indiana and my freshman year of college, I participated in my first pro camp. I got along great with the guys and also proved what a physical player I could be…

  That is, until my shoulder went out on the last day of camp. Not sure that they wanted a grinder who couldn’t make his hits, Chicago let me go and I trained as hard as my physical therapist allowed for my first college season.

  Chicago ended up dropping me and I hadn’t had any pro bites throughout college, right up until our last game. San Diego offered me a two-way contract and while true, no one dreamed of playing in the AHL, if that was what it was going to take to get me on an NHL roster, I wasn’t dumb. I wanted to play, and while I was doing that, I was going to show every damn person that I had what it took to be one of the most physical guys on their NHL roster.

  How San Diego chose a farm team in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, Wisconsin, I don’t know. There were certainly bigger cities in the state that they could have chosen, I don’t know, say… Shit, Eau Claire was nearly triple the size, if not more, and let’s be completely honest – Northern Wisconsin was more into the game than Southern Wisconsin. Most lower-Wisconsinites hopped on the Blackhawk bandwagon only come playoff time. Otherwise, hockey was hit or miss.

  The Enforcers weren’t exactly aiding to the cause though. People didn’t want to watch a game where the home team lost. People didn’t want to become fans of a franchise that consistently lost.

  If we could just fucking win more, maybe hockey could have a bigger standing in the area.

  So yeah. That’s how I got here.

  On a bus.

  Headed to Texas overnight for a long weekend game trip.

  And if the last six hours were any indication, I could tell this was going to be a long assed bus ride. The bus itself wasn’t terrible. It had any amenity one could possibly need or want. Hell, from the outside it didn’t even look like a bus but like a semi advertising the team.


  The seats weren’t bad, the bunks not too bumpy, and for the most part, the bathroom didn’t reek.

  Of course, that all depended on who ate what and when.

  There was a small kitchenette that was stocked well and plenty of room to play cards with the guys, or to simply be “alone with your thoughts”, as Teague “Ketty” Ketterhagen, the team’s goaltender and my closest friend here, seemed to always be doing.

  If we played better, maybe the organization would be willing to put us on a plane for more trips than just to Winnipeg, but as it was, we took the bus.

  Every.

  Fucking.

  Where.

  I mentally shook my head at the memory of tonight’s game. Hell, every game this season.

  There was so much damn potential on this team, but some of the guys cut corners here, others there, and damn, but the other teams just knew what they were doing.

  It was pretty damn frustrating.

  I glanced out of my bunk. It was relatively quiet, but then again, it was nearing two in the morning. Why the hell wasn’t I sleeping yet? I rubbed my chin, noting I’d have to shave tomorrow before I completely lost the stubble goatee I rocked normally to a long-past shadow.

  I looked at the folded piece of paper again and flipped it between my fingers, my other arm resting on the window sill. I rubbed my temple with my index finger, debating. Finally, I gave in.

  I told myself it was because it was late and I needed a quick laugh, a quick disgruntled groan, a quick… something to ease me into sleep.

  Or else tonight’s game was going to be hell in overdrive.

  With the hand holding the folded note, I reached above my head to turn on the small, personal light meant for my bunk and settled back to read.

  Noah-

  I’m sure you get it all the time, but I must join the parade and inform you that you are gorgeous. Now, but no means am I a puck bunny, jersey chaser, what have you, nor is that my intent. I simply… I don’t know what I thought I would accomplish by this, but I wanted to so I did.